


Sacrifice

by Emospritelet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Chair Sex, F/M, Fingerfucking, I can't believe this is my 50th fic on this site and it's a landlord/tenant sex for rent smut fic, Landlord!Gold and Tenant!Belle, Oral Sex, Smut, also I loathe CS so if you like the pirate don't read this, and there'll be a side of Swan Queen, basically she doesn't have the rent so offers herself instead, look at your choices, look at your life Sprite, okay but now it's developed into a new curse verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-12 07:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 47,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10485192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: Belle French lives in a tiny house with her baby son, struggling to make ends meet.  Caring for Gideon during his recent illness has left her behind on her rent, and all of Storybrooke knows that Mr Gold doesn't make exceptions.  Desperate to avoid eviction, Belle offers him the only thing of value she has left to sell.  Winner of Best AU!OUAT in The Espenson Awards 2018





	1. Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this was inspired by one pic of that little green and yellow house that Rumple and Belle were said to have filmed at. I got to thinking about how things would be if there was a new curse, and everyone lost their memories (again). So imagine this: Gideon has been de-aged back to a baby, Belle doesn't know Gold's his father and Gold is the ruthless landlord come to collect from his tenant, with no clue that she's really the love of his life.

It was no good.

No matter how many times she added the column of figures, it still came to the same total.  Which was not nearly enough to feed and clothe them for the month, never mind pay the rent.  Gideon’s cold had passed after a week, but it had been a week of fretting on her part, sleepless nights as she tried to soothe and calm him, and four days off work that she couldn’t afford to take.  Granny had been very good, sending a basket of baked goods around to her, but it was the loss of four days’ wages that she felt most keenly.  Belle French and her son lived a subsistence life as it was, in their tiny one-bed green and yellow home with the little back porch that she liked to sit on in the evening to read and rock her son in her arms.

She tried to remember a time when she hadn’t felt helpless, every day a struggle to make ends meet.  Gideon was growing by the day, and although the townsfolk were kind, donating second-hand clothes and well-loved toys, it didn’t stop Belle from feeling like a failure.  She had never wanted this life for her son, born to an unwed mother who made minimum wage at the local diner and who could only afford a one-bed at the edge of town.   _When I_ can _afford it_ , she thought ruefully.

Gideon burbled something from his crib, and Belle pushed back her chair with a sigh, going to check on him.  He was lying on his back, chewing on the toes of his booties, watching her with bright brown eyes.  Heart swelling with love for him, she gathered him up in her arms, holding him close and breathing in his scent.

“Don’t worry, Gid,” she said softly.  “Things will change for the better, you’ll see.”

A knock at the door made her start, and instinctively she hugged Gideon a little tighter.  She wasn’t expecting company, and the diner would be mid-shift, so it was unlikely to be one of her friends.  Which left one likely visitor.  A second knock, this one impatient, made her sigh.  She set Gideon down, pulling the blanket up over him, and eyed the door with trepidation.  There was only one person this could be.

Squaring her shoulders, she walked towards the door, her heart in her throat, and opened it up.

“Good day, Miss French.”

Mr Gold flashed her a brief, cold smile that didn’t reach his eyes.  His hair was short and greying, silver wisps just touching his ears.  They were slightly pointed, which with his high cheekbones gave him a somewhat ethereal look.  He was not a tall man, but he was nonetheless intimidating, in his designer suits that probably cost more than she earned in two months, a black overcoat in fine wool over the top.  His shirt was dark blue silk today, the colour of the midnight sky, the tie in a lighter shade, secured by a gold pin.  Long fingers adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, gold cufflinks winking in the sunlight, showing her exactly how much money he had and how he could grind her to dust beneath his shoes if he chose.

Belle clutched at the edge of the door, biting her lip nervously.  His eyes momentarily flicked to her mouth and then back up.

“Mr Gold,” she said.  “I - I wasn’t expecting you until later.”

“Time is money, dearie,” he said carelessly, looking at his fingernails.  “May I come in?”

Belle hesitated for a moment, then nodded and stepped back, opening the door.  He stepped inside, glancing around, and she shut the door behind him, leaning against it before pushing herself upright and striding forwards, turning to face him.  Gold eyed her calmly.

“Well?” he said.  “I believe your rent is due.  Past due, in fact.”

“I don’t have it,” she said, in a rush.

Gold stared at her for a long moment, and she wanted to squirm.  She raised her chin, meeting his eyes.  They were the same colour as Gideon’s, which caused an irrational sense of outrage within her.

“Ah,” he said quietly.  “Well, well, it appears that we have a problem.”

“I can get the money!” insisted Belle, hoping that he wouldn’t ask how, as she had no idea.  “Please, I just need a little more time!”

“I already gave you a week’s extension, against my better judgement,” he said coldly.  “You do recall telling me this exact same thing last week, I’m sure?”

Belle swallowed hard.  She had not expected him to grant an extension; in fact she had been amazed that he had given her the week she asked for with very little questioning.  It had made her think that perhaps, beneath the air of quiet menace and brooding darkness, he might be kind, no matter what the townsfolk said.

“I know,” she said wretchedly.  “And it was very kind of you, but I haven’t quite managed to scrape it all together.”

Gold pursed his lips, eyeing her in a calculating way, as though he was trying to tell whether she was lying to him.

“Please, Mr Gold, just another week,” she said.  “You can afford to wait, right?”

His eyes narrowed, and she knew she had made a mistake.

“Yes, I can,” he said calmly.  “But I won’t.”

Belle sagged with despair, and he let out a sigh of what sounded like frustration.

“Tell me, Miss French, what are the terms of our agreement?” he asked.  “Specifically in regard to the repair of household appliances and the heating system.”

Belle blinked in surprise.

“I - don’t understand,” she said, and Gold rolled his eyes.

“Clause thirty three, paragraph b,” he said impatiently.  “My duties as landlord.  If the heating system fails, I agreed to have it fixed within three working days, yes?”

“Yes,” said Belle, realising where this was going.  “But…”

“And on the eleventh of November I received a call from you at ten-forty in the evening, informing me…”

“Oh my God, you even remember the _time_?”

“...a call informing me,” Gold went on.  “That you had no hot water and no heating, did I not?”

“Yes,” sighed Belle.  “But…”

“And what happened then, Miss French?”

She stared at him silently, and he sighed again.

“Let me remind me, as you seem to be suffering from some sort of amnesia,” he said coolly.  “I arranged for an engineer to come out to you straight away, at considerable expense to myself, in order that you and your child should be warm and comfortable.  In short I more than fulfilled my end of our bargain.”

“Yes, and I was very grateful,” she said hurriedly.  “But…”

“Now,” he interrupted.  “Please take me through _your_ obligations under the contract, Miss French.  In particular those relating to the payment of rent.”

Belle glowered at him, and his lips twitched, as though he were amused.

“‘The rent must be paid in full on the first of each month’,” she recited, as though she were reading the damn contract over again.

“And if the rent is over a week late?”

“Then…”  She hesitated, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Go on.”

“Then you have the right to evict,” she said resignedly.

“Indeed I do.  The week has passed, Miss French, and you still don’t have the rent.”

“I told you I can get it!”

“And if I’d told you on the eleventh of November that you and the child would have to wait another week for hot water because I didn’t have the time or the inclination to deal with you, what would you have said?” he snapped.

Belle hung her head.  This was it, then.  The moment town residents had warned her of.  The moment he would throw her and Gideon out on the streets.

“Please,” she said softly.  “Please, I have a son.”

Gold glanced at the crib.

“Indeed you do,” he said carelessly.  “What about the father?  Doesn’t he give you anything?”

Belle opened and closed her mouth before putting her hands on her hips and raising her chin.

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business!” she said.  There was that tiny smile again.

“Well, then,” he said.  “I think we’re done here.”

He turned away from her, back towards the door, and in desperation she grabbed at his arm.

“No, wait!” she gasped.

Gold turned very slowly on the balls of his feet, his eyes meeting hers.  She had never touched him before, and she could feel a hint of his warmth through his overcoat, his forearm firm to the touch.  Her heart thumped high in her chest, and she quickly pulled her hand away, as though he had burned her.

“There - there must be something we can do!” she said desperately, and he raised his head a little.

“When two people each have something the other wants, a deal can always be struck,” he said quietly.  “Which begs the question, Miss French.  What do you have that I could want?”

“I - um…”  Belle racked her brains.  “I could - I could clean for you?  Take care of your house, tend your garden…”

“I already have people doing that,” he said.  “And don’t you take every hour you can at the diner?  How would that work?”

“Okay, you’re right.”  She began pacing, thinking hard.  “I - well, I’m a good cook!”

“You really think a muffin basket is going to win me over here?” he said scathingly, and she glared at him.  He shook his head.

“Face it, Miss French, you have no money for the rent, and no means of making it before the end of today,” he said.  “So unless you plan on touting your delightful wares around the docks to scrape up the cash…”

Belle felt like slapping him, but something made her pull back.  That tiny smile was still on his face, his eyes glinting.  Eyes like Gideon’s.  She glanced at the crib.  At her son.  If it was the choice between being homeless and...

“Well, I guess that’s something,” she said, and he blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“Something I could offer you.”

She squared her jaw, folding her arms across her chest.  He stared at her, eyes wide, his lips parted a little.  It was the first time she had ever seen Gold unsure of himself.

“Something I have that you want,” she added.

It was a shot in the dark.  He wasn’t a lecher, and it was only the tiniest of things that made her suspect that he found her attractive.  A faint hunger in his eyes when he looked at her.  The extension he had given her, and indeed the speed with which he had fixed her heating.  The way he would glance at her lips when she bit them.

“You can’t be serious,” he said.  He sounded unsettled, and it gave her hope.

“Why not?” she asked.  “I mean, you’re right.  There’s no way I can raise the money, not today.  I don’t have anything else of value to give you, and I have a child to feed and clothe, and a roof to keep over our heads.  So what do you think I’m worth?”

She moved her hands to her hips, her heart pounding, her cheeks flushing, and he simply stared at her.  His throat bobbed, and he looked away.

“If you think this is some sort of stand-off and that I’ll back down to preserve your honour…” he began, and Belle snorted.

“Honour?” she snapped.  “What is this, the bloody eighteenth century?  I’m hardly a blushing virgin, and there’s no honour in letting my child be homeless if I can find an easy fix.  It’s just sex, right?”

“Right,” he said, and closed his eyes for a moment, as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“So what do you think I’m worth?” she repeated, and he flicked his eyes open again.  The corner of his mouth pulled upwards.

“Well, you’re a week behind,” he said lazily.  “Perhaps we should start there.”

Belle glared at him.  “A _week_?  Are you kidding me?  I’m worth more than that!”

“Are you, indeed?”  He looked amused.  “It appears the child’s father didn’t think so.”

“You _bastard_!” she hissed, blushing, and he shrugged.

“Well, perhaps you want to make a different deal, then, since I’m so repulsive,” he suggested.

Belle narrowed her eyes, wondering if he was trying to goad her into backing out.

“No,” she said, and made a mental note as his wry smile disappeared for a moment before slithering back.  “No, I’m in.  But in lieu of two weeks, not one.”

Gold stared at her, and she made herself meet his gaze, difficult as that was.  She _had_ to stop thinking of Gideon whenever she looked in his eyes; it wasn’t as though Gold was his father.  How easy things would have been if he were.

“Alright,” he said finally.  “Two weeks.  Are you free tomorrow night?”

It was Belle’s turn to look surprised.

“Tomorrow night?” she said.  “But I thought…”

“Oh, you thought I’d do it here, in your - home,” he said, with a note of derision that made her bristle.  “I think not, Miss French.  I have no desire to rut in this hovel in front of another man’s brat, thank you.”

“You…”  She couldn’t think of a word awful enough for him.  “How _dare_ you!”

“Oh please, spare me your righteous anger,” he said, waving a disinterested hand.  “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?  Two weeks rent-free, in exchange for a night of your no doubt delightful favours.  At my house, tomorrow night, eight o’clock.”

He was grinning now, and Belle felt a shiver go through her.

“What - what do you expect?” she asked, and his grin widened, his eyes glinting wickedly.

“Are you questioning my tastes?” he asked, obviously amused.  “What on _earth_ do you think I’ll be asking of you?”

He blush deepened, her mouth working a little.

“I - I don’t know,” she admitted.  “I just - well…”

“Is there anything I could tell you that would change you mind?” he asked, his tone taunting, and her eyes narrowed again.

“No,” she said, and he blinked.  She was almost sure he was as uncomfortable with the idea as she was, and somehow that made her more determined.

“It’s settled, then,” he said abruptly.  “I expect you to stay the night.”

“But - my son!” protested Belle.  “Where am I supposed to leave him?”

“Well, that’s your problem, isn’t it, dearie?” he said mockingly.  “Perhaps this will be too much trouble after all.”

He turned away, and Belle grabbed for him again, pulling him back around.

“No, no, I can make it work!” she said breathlessly.  “Please!  I agree to the terms!”

They were standing very close, and she could smell his cologne, sandalwood and spice and pepper.  His breath had quickened a little, and the thought made her smile inside.  He _did_ want her.  But for some reason he was trying to push her away, to make her break the deal before it had even started.  This was her only chance.  The best shot that she and Gideon had.  She licked her lips, and noted the way his eyes flicked to them and back up.

“How about a down-payment?” she asked.  “To show you I’m serious?”

“Such as?” he asked, his voice a little uneven.

“I could kiss you,” she suggested.

“To seal the bargain?” he said, and his voice had gone low and throaty.  It made her belly clench, a sensation she barely remembered.

“Yes!” she breathed.  “How about it?”

The tip of Gold’s tongue flickered out across his lips, and she followed it with her eyes, noticing when she glanced back up that he was watching her.

“Very well,” he breathed, and reached up to cup her face with his hands.

The cologne was stronger on his fingers, and she wondered if he put it on just before he came over to collect from her.  He was very close, his breath cool on her face, but his touch was gentle, his palms warm.  His breathing had quickened, and he gently tilted her face upwards as he lowered his mouth to hers.  His lips were soft, pushing against hers, and Belle was horrified to hear a tiny moan burst from her as his tongue slipped between them and into her mouth, gently stroking.  Her hands dropped to his waist, sliding up his back, and Gold let out a low noise of pleasure as she pulled him close.  It felt good to kiss him, but she told herself that it had been so long since she’d felt any sort of affection that anyone’s kiss would feel special.  She pulled back with a hurried shuffle of feet, breaking the kiss and pressing her fingertips to her mouth, and Gold let his hands drop, both of them breathing hard.

“Well, well,” he said, and she was intrigued by the tremor in his voice.  “The deal is struck.”

Belle straightened up, adjusting clothing that didn’t need it, a flush high on her cheeks.

“Tomorrow night, then,” she said, and he nodded.

“Yes.  Eight o’clock.  Good day, Miss French.”

* * *

In the end, the easiest part was getting someone to watch Gideon.  Mary Margaret Blanchard was more than happy to take him on for the night.  Her own son Neal wasn’t much older, and as a single mother herself she understood the need to make ends meet, although Belle had been careful not to reveal what she was doing, merely telling her that she was working a night shift.  She left Mary Margaret with a bag of diapers and formula - for some reason she had never been able to breastfeed Gideon, which only made her feel more like a failure - and his favourite toy, a stuffed elephant made from blue felt that was clean, if well-chewed.

Once Gideon was taken care of, she went home to shower, shave her legs and pack an overnight bag.  Looking in her drawers made her sigh.  Sexy underwear was hardly a priority when it was hard enough to keep her son fed and clothed, and everything she owned was plain, but she picked the newest and best fitting.  She tried not to think about how it would feel to have Gold take it off her.

Her outfit took a little time to assemble. Since Gideon’s birth she had lost a lot of weight, her ribs and cheekbones visible, and her pre-pregnancy clothes were loose.  It wasn’t as though she had anything particularly fancy or sexy, and she wasn’t sure what Gold was expecting anyway.  Eventually she chose a fitted black blouse with a deep V-neck and lace edging, with cap sleeves and tiny buttons all the way down the front.  A flared black skirt showed off her legs, and she at least had a number of pairs of high heels, purchased long before Gideon was born, and barely worn since.  She had painted her toes a deep red to match her lipstick, so she chose a pair of peep-toes that were the same shade.  She wound her hair up on top of her head, eyeing herself in the mirror.  It had been months since she had dressed up like this, and it felt nice until she remembered the reason.

For a moment, it was all too much, and she sat down on the edge of her bed, breathing rapidly.  What if he hurt her?  What if he wanted to do something she hated?  It wasn’t as though she was particularly adventurous, or even had much experience.  Gideon’s conception hardly counted, as far as she was concerned.  Shaking her head, she sighed, furious with herself.  Whatever he wanted, she had already agreed to.  She had been foolish enough to let the man with power over her life set the terms of their agreement, and she would hold to that for the sake of her child.  She was more than willing to make that sacrifice.

* * *

It didn’t take her long to walk to Gold’s house, and she made the journey with her heart thumping in trepidation.  Lifting her chin, she told herself over and over that she was doing the right thing, that she was protecting her son, that it was her body to do with what she wanted.  Or rather what Gold wanted, she supposed.  She passed Killian Jones on the way, lurching a little and smelling of rum, no doubt on his way to another drinking session with David Nolan.  The man really was a barely-functioning alcoholic.  She ignored him when he tried to tell her how sexy she looked, and he muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath as she stalked past.

When she reached the salmon-pink Victorian, she stopped at the bottom of the path, nervously opening and closing her fists as she stared at the door.  Warm light was shining through the curtains and from the lamp on the porch, and she wondered how even the shade of the light that shone outwards could look expensive.  The house was large for one person, three bedrooms at least, she suspected, and she wondered what he did in those rooms.  What secrets the house contained.

Squaring her shoulders, and telling herself not to back out now, she marched up the path and mounted the steps, knocking on the stained-glass door before she could lose her nerve.  She watched as a shadow approached, her heart thumping hard, and then the lock rattled and the door opened.

Mr Gold looked out at her, blinking rapidly, as though surprised that she was there, even though this was the scheduled time for their - she supposed it wasn’t really a date, but she couldn’t think of a word that she would be more comfortable with.

“Miss French,” he said.

“It’s eight o’clock.”

It was the first thing that popped into her head, and he nodded.

“Indeed it is.  Please, come in.”

Belle stepped inside, looking around at the wide hallway and the polished wooden banister of the staircase that led upwards.  There was music coming from the room off to the left, something soothing and classical, but she wavered, unsure where he would want her to go.  She heard the click of the door behind her, the sound of a lock turning, and waited.  She could feel him behind her, a dark, almost heavy presence making her skin tingle and her breath quicken.

“May I take your coat?” he asked.

His voice was a little lower than normal, free of the snide tone he often used, and she nodded, setting down her overnight bag, unfastening the coat and opening it up.  He put his hands on her shoulders, drawing it down her arms.  She could feel a hint of his breath on the back of her neck, ruffling the wisps of hair that curled down and making her shiver.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.  “I can get you something, if you like.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Gold stepped to the side, hanging the coat on the rack beside the door, and Belle crossed her arms as though she was cold, although the house was pleasantly warm.

“A drink, then,” he suggested.  “Some champagne?”

“Are we celebrating something?” she asked dryly, and there was a moment of silence.

“A glass of wine?” he offered then.  “Vodka?  Gin and tonic?  I have a large selection of spirits, if you’d like one.”

Belle turned to face him, and saw that he was playing with that heavy gold ring of his, twisting it around the third finger of his left hand.  She wondered why he wore it on his ring finger.  Perhaps he had once been married.  Perhaps it was simply an affectation.  His shirt was red today, the same colour as her nail polish, his tie a red so dark it was almost black.  Dark eyes were watching her somewhat warily, and she lifted her chin.

“I’ll take a glass of wine.”

He nodded, and gestured to the room in which the music was playing.

“Please, make yourself at home,” he said.  “I won’t be a moment.”

Belle stepped carefully into what looked like a lounge, filled with beautiful antique furniture, a fire burning in the hearth and a thick rug on the wooden floor.  There were bookshelves on the back wall, and she hurried over to them, tilting her head to the side so that she could read the titles on the spines.  The sound of footsteps made her look around, and Gold walked in with a bottle of wine and two glasses.  She watched as he poured wine the colour of blood, crystal facets in the glasses winking in the light of the lamps.  She straightened up, and rounded the edge of a chaise longue upholstered in olive green velvet, reaching out to take one of the glasses.

“Thank you,” she said, and he nodded.

Belle waited until he had drunk before taking a sip of her wine.  It wasn’t that she expected him to drug her, but she had learned the hard way that it paid to be careful.  The wine was very good, and she was absolutely sure that it would go to her head; it had been a long time since she had drunk more than a small beer or two.  Still, if it made her more relaxed, it could only be a good thing, she supposed.  He was watching her over the rim of his glass, his eyes gleaming in the light, dark and unreadable.  She licked her lips, sweeping a droplet of wine into her mouth.

“You managed to get someone to care for the child, then?” he observed.

“Mary Margaret,” she said.  “Gideon’s around Neal’s age.”

“Of course.”  He took a sip of wine.  “He seems a good-natured baby.”

“He is, most of the time,” said Belle, wondering why the hell he was making small talk.  “Except when he’s ill, of course.”

“As with all children.”

There was silence for a moment as they both drank.  The fire crackled, flames dancing and leaping in the hearth.  There was a heaviness in the air around her, anticipation and a touch of fear, and she sighed, wishing he’d just get it over with, whatever it was that he wanted.

“We - we didn’t discuss birth control,” she said.  “I have condoms in my bag.”

“That’s alright, I bought some,” he said.  “They’re upstairs.”

“Really?”  Belle raised an eyebrow.  “I hope you went outside Storybrooke.  You know how this town likes to gossip.”

“Mr Clark knows better than to disclose my private business,” he said stiffly.  “Your reputation is quite safe, Miss French, I assure you.”

“Actually, I was thinking of yours,” she said.  “It’s not as though Mr Clark would know it was me coming over, right?”

Gold inclined his head, conceding the point.

“And given our plans for the evening, I think you should probably call me Belle,” she added dryly.

“As you wish.”

She expected him to give her his name too, and when he didn’t she decided she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking.  It wasn’t as though she planned on screaming it at any point.  He continued to watch her, and she sighed, shifting her feet restlessly.

“How do you - um - want to do this?” she asked.

“Do you need a lesson in anatomy?” he asked dryly, and she flushed.

“You know what I mean,” she said, giving him a flat look.  “Are we - are we going to bed?”

“You seem to be in a hurry,” he said, lifting a brow with a smile that made her want to slap him.  “I have you for the whole night, do I not?”

Belle felt her jaw protrude as she glowered at him, and the smile widened, his gold tooth glinting in the light.  He seemed to be waiting for a response from her, and when she said nothing he shrugged and took another swig of his wine.

“I’m making conversation,” he said.  “It’s traditional to at least attempt to get to know the person you’re about to sleep with.  Unless you know differently, of course.”

Belle’s eyes narrowed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped, and he blinked.

“I - wasn’t insinuating anything, if that’s what you thought,” he said carefully.  “I was - well, actually it was a quip.  I was trying to lighten the mood.”

“I’m not looking to be friends, here,” sighed Belle.  “I’m here to fulfil my part of our deal, and to keep a roof over my son’s head.”

“Yes.”  He took another sip of wine.  “Your father rents a much larger place from me.  Room for all three of you, I would have thought.  How is it that you and your son live alone?”

Belle hesitated before answering.  The truth pained her to admit.

“He - threw me out,” she admitted.  “When I told him I was pregnant.”

“I see,” said Gold, his tone cool.  “And the child’s father?”

She turned away, looking into the flames.

“There isn’t one.”

“My, my, I appear to be in the presence of a miracle,” he drawled, and she whirled on her toes, glaring at him.

“Okay, _obviously_ there was one biologically!” she snapped.  “But I assure you that’s _all_!  He doesn’t even know about Gideon, and I have no intention of him ever finding out!  Not that he’d care anyway!”

Gold held up a hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.  “I didn’t mean to open old wounds.”

“It doesn’t even matter, and it’s none of your business,” she said dully, and threw back half of her wine.  “Shall we get on with this or not?”

“Patience is a virtue, I’m told,” he said, almost to himself.  “But not one you appear to value.  Come along, then.”

Glaring at his back, she followed him upstairs, watching his rear as he climbed.  The guy was an arsehole.  Even if he did have a nice butt.

Gold’s bedroom was surprisingly pretty, the walls a dusky pink, the bed antique mahogany with a red silk throw over crisp white sheets and an ornately-carved headboard that stretched up the wall behind.  There was a walnut dresser off to her right beside the bed, and a large wardrobe to the left.  The bay window looked out onto the darkened woods beyond the garden, and a leather-covered wingback chair and small table sat there.  Gold crossed to the chair and sat down, putting his glass on the table and resting his elbows on the arms of the chair as he watched her.  It felt as though she was about to be judged, and be found wanting.

“Come here,” he said quietly, and Belle hesitated, casting her eyes around the room as though she would find a way out.  Gold rolled his eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, a touch impatiently.  “Come here.”

She stared at him for a moment before complying, setting her glass down next to his and shifting closer, until she was almost touching him.  He sat forward, putting his hands on her hips and running them over the curve of her buttocks through the skirt, and Belle shivered.

“Kneel,” he whispered, and she swallowed hard, closing her eyes as she sank to her knees on the thick rug.

When she looked at him again, he was staring at her, her eyes on a level with the base of his throat.  His lips had parted a little, his breathing harder, and she felt that low-down clench again, a tug of what she recognised as desire.  His hands slid over her shoulders, thumbs brushing the skin of her throat and up over her cheeks.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, and her breath hitched at the sincerity in his voice.  It was a long time since she’d felt beautiful.

He began to unfasten the buttons of her shirt, gently plucking at each one all the way down to her navel.  His fingers shook a little as he pushed the sides apart, slowly drawing the shirt down her arms to fall to the floor.  Belle closed her eyes for a moment, but his touch was gentle, his hands warm on her waist as he pulled her a little closer.  She met his eyes, and a muscle twitched in his cheek as he reached up to cup her face again, slowly pulling her towards him as he bent his head to press his brow to hers, his breath whispering in over her lips.  Belle could feel her heart thump as she breathed him in, the cologne she remembered mixed with the muskiness of his own scent.  There was an intimacy to the gesture, something that seemed to go beyond sex and need and urgency, something about the simplicity of touch, and the sense of another’s breath in her lungs.  She was surprised to find that she wanted him to kiss her, and it was with some urgency that she reached for his mouth with her own, her lips catching his and pulling him with her.

Gold moaned as their mouths met, his tongue slipping inside and finding hers, his fingers sinking into her hair, its strands already working themselves free from the pins that held them up off her face.  Belle let herself sink into him, losing herself in the kiss, telling herself that it didn’t matter, that it was for Gideon, and that if she found some small pleasure in it, so much the better.  Her hands moved to his knees, to his thighs, feeling the firm warmth of his muscles beneath the fine wool of his pants, and she felt him shiver as her hands slid upwards.

His hands slipped from her hair, sweeping down over her shoulders and down her back, and he plucked at the clasp of her bra, struggling for a moment before getting it undone.  Thumbs eased under the straps, tugging them down, and Belle let her arms drop to her sides so that it could fall to the floor.  He cupped her breasts with gentle hands, pulling his mouth from hers to kiss down her neck, and Belle moaned as he sucked at her pulse point, his tongue sweeping over her skin.  Her hands were on his thighs again, sliding up his legs, thumbs sweeping along the thin seams, and he groaned against her throat as she brushed his groin, the rigid line of his cock pushing against his pants.

He pulled back a little, reaching up to slide the pins from her hair, letting the dark curls tumble free, his fingers combing through them, and he shook his head, an almost reverent expression on his face.

“So beautiful,” he said softly.  “You’re so beautiful, Belle.”

It was the first time he had used her name, and he held it in his mouth as though it were a fragile thing, a snowflake melting on his tongue and released with his breath.  He kissed her throat again, his lips trailing up to her ear, teeth nipping at her lobe, his breath sending shivers through her.

“Stand up,” he whispered.

She rose up slowly on the balls of her feet, his hands leaving her breasts and sliding down and around to cup her rear and squeeze.  He found the zipper at the back of her skirt, pulling it down and pushing the skirt from her to pool at her feet, leaving her in shoes and panties.  His fingers tightened on her hips, pulling her towards him, and he pressed his lips to her mound through the plain black panties, inhaling deeply to take in her scent.  Belle gasped at the feel of it, her fingers combing through his hair, and Gold pulled back, glancing up at her briefly.  His eyes had gone very dark, his breathing hard and heavy, and he slipped his thumbs beneath the waistband of her panties, slowly drawing them down over her hips to fall around her ankles, baring her to his gaze.

Gold let out a long sigh at the sight of her, and placed his palms on her lower belly, warm against her skin.  His thumbs gently parted her folds, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to her, her skin tingling at the feel of his lips.  Then the tip of his tongue touched her, and Belle sucked in a breath, letting it out in a loud moan as he swept his tongue up through her soft flesh, a low growl rumbling up from within him as he tasted her.  She let her head roll back, her heart thudding in her chest, sensations rippling through her body as his tongue probed and swirled.  His hair was very soft, slipping through her fingers, his nose pressing into her, his mouth hot and wet, and she felt the blood flush her cheeks as her arousal grew.

It had been longer than she could remember that she had experienced sexual pleasure; work and caring for her son left her too tired when she fell into bed to do anything but sleep.  She had almost forgotten how it could feel, this sensation that rose up through her like a wave of darkness and heat and need.  Gold’s hands gripped her rear, pulling her tight against him, his groan of pleasure vibrating through her and making her bite her lip.  She was almost panting, her pulse throbbing in her head, warmth rising up through her body, and his tongue was swirling and sliding and it felt so, so good that she had to, she had to…

Belle came with a cry of joy, light bursting in her vision, pleasure radiating out from where his tongue still stroked her, her fingers tightening in his hair.  Her knees shook as he slipped his tongue inside her, licking the cum from her with a low, bass hum of satisfaction.  Belle braced herself on his shoulders, still shaking, and he pulled back, his eyes heavy-lidded and a smug, twisted little smile on his face.  She stared at him, aware that she was wide-eyed and panting, her body tingling from his touch.  This was - unexpected.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and she blinked rapidly, nodding.

“Fine,” she said.  “I’m fine.”

It occurred to her that she was naked except for her shoes, and that he hadn’t even taken off his waistcoat.  He was running his eyes over her, and it should have made her uncomfortable.  Surprisingly, it didn’t.  Gold jerked his head to the side.

“On the bed,” he said.  “Leave the shoes on.”

Belle pushed herself upright, feeling his eyes on her as she walked to the bed and climbed on.  She turned onto her back, raised up on her elbows, watching him as he stood and picked up the wine glasses.  He was very visibly aroused, and she felt a tugging in her belly again, the pull of desire.  She wanted him, wanted him with a hunger that shocked her.

He set the glasses down on the nightstand, opening up the drawer and throwing some condoms onto the bed.  Belle picked one up, looking it over as he unfastened his cufflinks, setting them down on the dresser with tiny clinks.  He started on the tie then, the long length of deep red silk shining in the lamplight as he drew it through the knot with a whispery noise.  The tie was draped over the back of the chair, and he started on the buttons of his waistcoat, shrugging it off.  Belle licked her lips, wanting to open up his shirt and feel his skin beneath her fingertips.

He bent to take off his shoes and socks, setting them aside before climbing onto the bed beside her, and Belle reached out to touch him, flicking open the buttons at the collar of his shirt, working her way down.  She could feel the heat from him as he leaned over her, his fingers trailing up over the curve of her breast, his touch featherlike.  A warm hand cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking over the plump swell of her lip, and he pulled it down, sliding his thumb inside, his breath hardening as she sucked him, her eyes locked on his.

“God, Belle!” he growled, and kissed her, their mouths slippery with saliva as he drew his thumb out, his tongue teasing hers.

There was stickiness on his mouth and chin, and the heavy scent of her pleasure on his skin.  His fingers stroked through her hair, the kiss deepening as he pushed her down on the bed, and Belle opened her legs, letting him move in between them, the hard length of him pressing against her through his suit pants.  She finished unbuttoning the shirt, pushing it from his shoulders to reveal smooth, lightly-tanned skin, the nipples a darker shade on the flat planes of his chest.  He shrugged off the shirt, throwing it aside, and she was able to explore him with her fingers, feeling her way up his waist and around his back, fingertips sweeping up the groove of his spine.  He groaned at her touch, and she moved her hands around to feel his chest, thumbs rubbing over his nipples and making him gasp into her mouth.

Gold shifted to the side a little, sliding his hand down over her belly and between her legs, and Belle moaned as he touched flesh already sensitive from her earlier climax.  He began stroking her, and she pulled her mouth from his, letting her head roll back with a tiny cry at the feel of him.  His fingers curled and stroked, caressing her, teasing her, and she reached up to touch his cheek, feeling the slight rasp of new stubble.  His hair gleamed silver in the light, his gaze burning through her, and she stretched up to kiss him again, moaning and falling back as he slipped a finger inside her, a tiny grin pulling his mouth up at one corner.

“God, you feel good!” he whispered, and added another finger, sliding them inside, his thumb rubbing over her clit and making her moan.  “I want to get inside you.”

Belle wanted that too, her body aching for him, but he was pushing and thrusting and rubbing, and she couldn’t speak.  She could feel herself building towards orgasm again, her flesh swollen and tender, slippery with her juices, and he stroked her in slow circles, his thumb rubbing and sliding.  Her breath quickened, her cheeks flushing, and she cried out as she came again, her muscles clamping around his fingers.  Gold groaned in pleasure, rubbing her gently until she settled back on the bed, her moans quieting.  He gently drew his hand from her, licking whitish threads of cum from his fingers, and she watched him through heavy eyes.

“You taste so good!” he breathed.  “I want you, Belle!”

She heard a clink of metal as he unfastened his belt and pants, pushing them down along with his underwear.  Her heart was thumping hard, and she barely noticed as he groped for one of the condoms, swearing under his breath as he tried to get it open.  Belle opened an eye, sneaking a look down between them to where his cock protruded, thick and heavy.  It made her belly tighten again, and she reached up to stroke her fingers over his chest in gentle, swirling patterns.  He growled a little as he rolled on the condom, and then he was between her legs again, his cock pressing against her thigh, his mouth finding hers.

Belle moaned as they kissed, hands raking through his hair, and Gold grasped her shoulders and rolled onto his back, letting her straddle him.  She sat up, suddenly given control and unsure of herself because of it, but he sent her a lazy smile and gently cupped her breasts with his hands, his thumbs stroking her skin.  His cock was pressed up against her, and she took it in hand, raising herself up on her knees a little to line them up.  It felt almost strange, having him there, pushing at her, but she was wet and he was hard and she slid down onto him with a moan, pulling a hoarse groan from him, his hips rising to meet her.

Belle stilled, getting used to the feel of him inside her, hands splayed on his belly.  His chest was smooth, the dark hair at his groin spreading upwards only a little way, and the feel of him inside her was arousing and somehow familiar, as though they had done this a thousand times.  As though she knew him almost better than she knew herself.  It was a strange feeling, and somewhat unsettling, and she chewed her lip anxiously.

“Are you alright?” he asked, a little breathless, and she nodded.

He let his hands slide down to her hips, and Belle began to move, rocking against him, the friction making her want to moan aloud.  Sweat was forming on her upper lip, her pulse throbbing, and she canted her hips, letting him pull out almost all the way before sliding back down onto him.  Gold gasped with every move, his eyes closed, his head rolling back against the pillows, and she bit back a moan as she rubbed against him.

“Go on,” he breathed.  “Take your pleasure, sweetheart.”

She quickened her pace a little, the sensations building, and stared down at him as she moved, as she thrust, grinding against him, his cock deep inside her, his hands on her hips tugging her close.  Gold was watching her closely, his eyes almost black, his breathing hard, and she knew she was close, knew she would come.  She licked her lips, her mouth dry, her abdomen aching from the unfamiliar strain of well and truly _fucking_ someone.  Her mouth opened, a moan escaping her, and he groaned as her hips bucked, her body shaking, the muscles tightening and pulling as she neared her peak.

“God, that feels amazing!” he hissed.  “You’re so good, little Belle.  So hot and wet and soft all around me.  So good to _fuck_!”

His voice was low and throaty, his accent thick, the words rasping from his throat, and Belle came with a wail, pumping her hips, and he held her close as she moved, increasing the friction, making stars burst in her head.  Her movements became erratic, and Gold tightened his grip on her hips, steadying her.  She fell forward, hair hiding her face, and he reached up to brush it back, fingers stroking her cheek as she gasped for air.

“Okay?” he asked, and she nodded breathlessly.

He rolled her onto her back, and Belle flopped against the pillows, sucking in air, moaning again as he sank down into her, his cock still hard inside her.  Her body felt wonderfully warm and loose, her limbs filled with a pleasant, aching heaviness, and she let a slow smile spread across her face as she wrapped her legs around his back, the heels of the shoes scraping his skin.  Gold pushed deeper, letting out a low groan as he thrust into her, and Belle moaned again as he began circling his hips, grinding against her.

He felt good inside her, the weight of his body on hers strangely comforting, his scent surrounding her, and she lifted her head to lick the salt from his skin, drawing her tongue across his chest before swirling it around the nipple.  Gold groaned, pushing his fingers through her hair, the scent of her arousal still on his skin.  Belle let her head roll back as he licked up the length of her throat, his tongue teasing her lips and stroking against her palate.  She gripped his sides with her thighs, digging her heels into him and pulling him all the way in, and his tongue slipped inside her mouth, pushing deep as he thrust into her.  She could feel him nearing his peak, his body tensing, his cock rigid, and he pulled his head back with a gasp, quickening his pace, gazing down at her with widened, almost fearful eyes, before he came with a loud groan, pumping against her, his cock pulsing deep inside her.  He kissed her again, his mouth wet and hot, and Belle felt a ripple of - _something -_ going through her.  Something that made her breath catch.

Gold stared at her for a moment, his expression stricken, then swallowed hard with an almost imperceptible shake of his head.  She gazed at him curiously, wondering if he had felt it too, but he let his head drop, pushing his face into her neck, and Belle held him close, stroking his hair as she tried to analyse what she had just experienced.  It was something familiar.  A feeling of warmth, and light.  Almost like coming home.  Gold let out a final, shuddering breath and pushed himself up on his elbows.

“What - what’s wrong?” he asked breathlessly, and she shook her head.

“I - don’t know,” she admitted.  “I felt - something.  I’m not sure...”

He stared at her for a moment, then nodded.

“I - I think I felt something too,” he said.  “I don’t - I don’t know what it is.”

Belle met his gaze, and  reached up to touch his cheek, running her thumb over his skin and up by his ear, ruffling the silver hairs with her fingers.  It felt so right to have him there, on top of her, inside her.  So familiar.  He was staring down at her with those dark eyes of his, deep as night and warm as whisky.  Gideon’s eyes.  She swallowed, the pricking of unexpected tears making her blink rapidly.

“Whatever it is, it’s working,” she said.  “Kiss me again.”


	2. Strength

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I caved! Apparently I'm really bad at writing one-shots because I always have to come up with some stupid plot that then comes to life in my brain :(
> 
> *clears throat* okay kids, enjoy the angst! I imagine there'll be around another three chapters

Belle sank into Gold’s kiss, her lips sliding against his as he began to soften inside her, and a pulse of energy went through her, making her gasp into his mouth, her eyes widening as her sense of self returned.  She was not Belle French, impoverished single mother, caring alone for a baby fathered by a man she despised.  She was Lady Belle of the Enchanted Forest, daughter of Sir Maurice.  And she was Belle Gold, librarian.  She was married to Mr Gold, to Rumplestiltskin, landlord, pawnbroker and dealmaker, the Dark One and the true father of her child.

She tried to catch her breath, pulling her mouth from his as she blinked rapidly, attempting to make sense of it all.  Another curse, then.  A curse to make them forget who they were, now broken by True Love’s Kiss.  Rumple had always said it was the most powerful magic of all, and despite everything, it had still worked for them.  Despite all they had gone through, he was still her True Love.  It made her want to cry with joy.

He had pushed himself up on his elbows and was watching her warily as he tried to steady his breathing.  Given the recent state of their relationship, she supposed she could hardly blame him.  Leaping into bed together wouldn’t have been her first choice of how to mend what was broken, but at least it would deal with the initial awkwardness.  And it was one thing they had always done very well together.  Gideon.  She couldn’t _wait_ to bring him Gideon.  She reached up to cup his cheek, tears pricking her eyes, and smiled up at him, earning a curve of his lips in return, his eyes crinkling in the way she loved.

“Rumple,” she whispered.  “My Rumple.  We did it.  We broke the curse.”

His eyes narrowed, the tiny smile falling from his face.

“What did you call me?” he asked, and Belle felt her brow crease in confusion.

“Rumplestiltskin?” she said.  “That - that is you, isn’t it?”

“What on _earth_ are you talking about?” he asked, his voice turning cold.

“I - well - the curse,” she said lamely.  “We broke the curse!”

His mouth flattened, and he pushed up further, pulling out of her.

“Miss French, if this is some sort of bizarre joke, I’m afraid the punchline is lost on me,” he said, and slipped from the bed, going to the bathroom.

Belle lay for a moment, confused.  She had _felt_ the breaking of the curse.  She had felt the rush of energy as old memories poured into her head, as she became her true self once more.  Surely it had happened for him too?  She heard water running in the sink, and then he came back inside, grabbing a black silk bathrobe from the hook on the door and tugging it on, wrapping himself in darkness, hiding from her.  Belle sat up, the bedclothes pooling at her waist, and he watched her calmly, his eyes flicking up to meet hers.  She felt her heart sink at the bleakness in them.

“I - I don’t understand,” she said.  “True Love’s Kiss has to work for you as well as for me, it has to!  It can’t be one-sided if it’s True Love!”

“True Love?”  He rolled his eyes.  “How nauseatingly romantic.”

“But it’s real!” she insisted.  “It’s what we _have_!  What we’ve _always_ had!”

“ _Always_?” he said.  “We barely know one another!”

He looked disbelieving, his hair shining silver and his body swathed in unrelieved black, the silk robe as much armour as his perfect suits and shirts had ever been.  Suspicion had thrown a wall up around him, a wall built of abuse and isolation and self-loathing that she had fought so hard to get through, even when he remembered loving her.  The thought of having to do it again almost made her want to weep.

“I love you, Rumple,” she said softly.  “I love you, and you love me!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he snapped.  “After one night of passion?  Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Please try to remember!” she begged.  “There must be a part of you that _knows_ me!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said coldly.  “We’ve barely exchanged two dozen words that weren’t about your rent since we met!”

“We were married,” she persisted.  “By the wishing well in the woods.”

“Strange.”  He inspected his fingernails.  “One would think I’d recall something so - momentous.  Alas, I’m drawing a blank.”

“But we…”

“We?”  He sneered at her.  “There is no _we_ , Miss French.  Our relationship up until now has consisted of me providing accommodation, and you trying to weasel out of paying for it.  And this evening is not exactly the basis for anything more, is it?”

Belle put her fists on her hips, furious with him.

“Are you trying to tell me that what we just shared meant _nothing_?” she demanded, and he sighed.

“Look, I won’t deny that the experience was an enjoyable one…”

“It was _more_ than that!”

“...but I hardly think whoring yourself out to pay the rent counts as True Love, dearie,” he said coldly.

Belle squared her jaw, resisting the urge to slap him.  He was still just Gold, then, no trace of her Rumple.  It hadn’t worked for him.  Why hadn’t it worked?  Still, perhaps she could try again.

“You felt something,” she said, waving an accusatory finger.  “You _told_ me!  Don’t deny it!”

He was silent for a moment, his eyes glittering.

“As I said, it was enjoyable,” he said, his voice flat.  “Extremely enjoyable, if you must know, but not exactly life-changing.  What do you want from me, Miss French?”

“It’s _Belle_ ,” she said.  “You know that, you’ve been saying my name all the way through our time together this evening.  Use it now.”

He lifted his chin, his gaze suspicious, and Belle sighed in frustration and no small amount of anger, running a hand through the tangle of her curls.

“Perhaps you need something more,” she said, almost to herself.

“Something more?”  He raised an eyebrow.  “Something more than a quick fuck with one of my tenants, you mean?”

“Stop _being_ like this!” she snapped.  “This isn’t you!”

His lip curled.

“What, one evening of my company, and you think you know me?” he said witheringly.  “Don’t let my ability to make you come change your low opinion of me, dear.  I derived as much pleasure from the act as you, so clearly I’m still every inch the selfish bastard you believed me to be.”

“Rumple…”

“Stop _calling_ me that!”

“Gold, then.”  Belle ran her hands over her face, frustrated.  “You know, you never told me your first name.”

“Well, you never asked,” he said curtly.  “As I recall, you didn’t want to be friends.”

“I changed my mind!” she snapped.

“As did I.”  His jaw tightened.  “What game are we playing here, Miss French?”

“It’s not a _game_ ,” she insisted.  “I just - I realised how I really feel about you, that’s all.”

“And how’s that?”

His eyes were glinting with bitterness, with malice, and she opened and closed her mouth as she tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound insane to him.  His lips twisted into a sneer.

“I should have known,” he drawled.  “Tell me, Miss French, what is it you _really_ want?”

“I - what?”  Belle blinked at him.  “I don’t understand.”

“Everyone always wants _something_ from me,” he said scathingly.  “It appears you’re no different.  For a brief moment I thought perhaps…”

He waved a hand, the gesture dismissive, as though he were casting away something he no longer had a use for.

“Still,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.  “No matter.”

She stared at him, at the venomous expression on his face, the mouth set in a flat line.  He was hurting, and trying to hurt her back, and she wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.  Hadn’t they been separated enough?  Why couldn’t they just be happy?  Why hadn’t it _worked_?

“Perhaps I’m not enough,” she whispered.

She felt a lance of pain go through her with her words.  A snide inner voice taunted her, telling her that she was never enough for him.  She never had been.  Gideon, though.  Gideon might be enough.

“Perhaps.”  She licked her lips.  “Perhaps if you held your son...”

Gold took a step forward, his expression turning dark.

“My _son_?” he thundered, his eyes flashing.  “My son, Miss French, is _dead_!  How _dare_ you bring him into whatever twisted scheme you’ve have going on!”

“No, no!” said Belle, horrified, raising her hands.  “I didn’t mean poor Neal, I meant _our_ son!  Our Gideon!”

Gold looked astonished.

“You think - you think you can claim _me_ as the father of your bastard child?” he snapped, raising a hand and letting it fall.  “Oh, I see what this was all about now!  You can’t pay the rent and you just _happen_ to suggest a night of passion with a man you hate?”

“I - I don’t…” stuttered Belle.

“Well, I’m sorry, dearie, but I imagine you’re around fifteen months too late,” he spat.  “Perhaps you should have engineered this little stunt after you first found out you were pregnant by whatever piece of filth you chose to lie with!”

Belle clenched her fists.

“Rumple, so help me, when this is over I am going to _remind_ you that you said that!” she snapped.  “It was _you_ , you insufferable man!”

“I don’t believe there’s enough drink in the _world_ to make me forget sleeping with you!” he said, his eyes flashing, “and tonight was most _definitely_ the first time!”

Belle threw up her hands in frustration, letting them fall against the bedclothes.  He had begun pacing, the silk flapping around his legs.

“I imagine it’s a good thing I supplied the condoms,” he went on.  “Might there have suddenly been a problem with any _you_ provided?  A shock pregnancy announcement in a month or two?  You think that if you can trick me into giving you a child, that I’ll care for the son of another as well?”

“But Gideon _is_ our son!” said Belle plaintively.  “Just hold him, I’m sure you’ll feel it!”

“I _had_ a son, Miss French!” he said, his voice breaking a little as he tapped his chest.  “A son I loved more than _life_!  I lost him twenty years ago, and a part of me died with him!”

“I know,” she said sadly.  “I know that, love, I know.”

He regarded her coldly, his eyes narrowed with bitterness and pain.

“Put your clothes on,” he said quietly.  “And get out.”

He turned his back, the damask silk of his robe shimmering in the light, and Belle sighed in frustration, tears welling in her eyes.  How many times would they push each other away?  She slipped from the bed, padding to where he stood with his back to her, and reached up to put gentle hands on his shoulders.  He flinched at her touch, shrugging her off.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.  “I never meant to dredge up old hurts.  Forget I said anything, I think it must have been the wine.”

“You barely finished one glass,” he said, his voice flat.  “Please go, Miss French.”

“But - our deal,” she persisted.  “You said the whole night, remember?”

“Well, that was before we had this little chat,” he said dryly.  “I release you from that part of the contract.  Go.”

Wanting to cry, Belle bent to gather her clothes, staring at his back as she pulled on her underwear and zipped the little skirt.  Trembling fingers meant that it took a while to fasten all the shirt buttons, but she managed it eventually.  Gold had not looked at her the whole time, staring out of the bedroom window at the dark woods beyond.  His shoulders were stiff, his head up and jaw tight, and she felt desperately sad at having to leave him.

“I - um…”  She broke off, unsure of what to say.  “I’ll be going, then.”

“You can let yourself out,” he said, his voice calm.

“Yeah,” she whispered, and turned towards the door.

“Oh, and Miss French?”

Belle turned back, hoping for the tiniest show of tenderness from him, but he was still facing away from her, the set of his shoulders shutting her out.

“We agreed two weeks rent-free,” he said quietly.  “I’ll hold to that.  I expect the remainder of this month’s rent to be paid in full tomorrow.”

Belle sighed, letting her head drop in defeat.

“Yes, Mr Gold.”

“Goodnight, Miss French.”

* * *

The door closed behind her, and Gold let himself sag, his head bowing.  She was gone.  He took a moment to focus on his breathing, the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the rush of air in his lungs.  The whole experience had felt like a dream, and he tried to hold onto it, to remember how she had felt beneath him, the warmth and softness of her skin and the firm curves of her breasts pushing against his chest.  The way she had moaned in pleasure.  The taste of her bliss on his tongue.  Closing his eyes, he let himself wallow in her one last time, before shoving her ruthlessly away.  She was no different to any of those that begged and wheedled and tried to get something for nothing.  Those that scowled and muttered behind his back and called him a grasping, evil bastard.  At least they were honest about their disdain.  At least they didn’t try to hide how they wanted to use him.

Wearily, he turned from the window and made his slow way downstairs, padding to the lounge and pouring himself a large whisky.  He lowered himself onto the couch to drink it, the warm light of the lamps gleaming through the amber liquid, and took a drink, the whisky tasting harsh and almost bitter on his tongue.  Belle French.  By and large he took no interest in the lives of his tenants, provided they paid their rent on time, but something indefinable had drawn him to her.  She was beautiful, of course, but there were many beautiful women in Storybrooke.  It was more than that.  He admired her fire, her spirit, the way she was not afraid to meet his eyes, or to stand up to him.  It had taken very little persuasion on her part for him to agree to an extension of rent, and he had been disappointed when he arrived to collect and she didn’t have what he was owed.  He had not wanted to be strict with her, but he couldn’t be seen to make exceptions.

Her offer of sex had taken him by surprise, and to his astonishment he had found himself not only considering it, but trying to talk her out of it.  His mind had been screaming at him to shut up while he tried to push her away with insults, but of course she hadn’t let his taunts deter her, and so that evening he had found himself staring up at her as she moved above him, feeling like the luckiest idiot that had ever lived.

 _No fool like an old fool_ , he thought bitterly.  She had shown her true colours soon enough.  He took a drink, resisting the urge to hurl the glass into the fireplace.  The scent of her was still on his fingers, and he breathed her in, closing his eyes and remembering how she tasted when she came.  Mouth twisting, he took another swallow of whisky to wash away her flavour.  Past time to rid his mind of the delights of Miss French.

The fire crackled, flames dancing above the logs with snaps and sparks, and he let his mind drift as he stared into the embers.  She had seemed so strange, talking of curses and true love as though she thought she was in some sort of fairy tale.   _Rumplestiltskin.  That’s what she called me.  An odd pet name, from an odd girl._  He shook his head, taking another drink.  Perhaps she was right.  Perhaps the wine really had affected her.

Running a hand over his face, he sighed, feeling weary.  Provided she paid her rent on time from now on, Belle French was not his problem.  He threw back the rest of his drink, relishing the burn at the back of his throat.  He could put her aside.  He would.

* * *

Belle walked home slowly, trying to come to terms with the memories that were surging through her mind.  She passed few people on the way, but enough to make her heart ache for what the curse had done.  After pausing outside Mary Margaret’s house, she decided not to collect Gideon.  It was too late, and would only lead to awkward questions for which she had no answers.  So Snow was separated from David, raising their son alone, her True Love a pirate’s deadbeat drinking buddy.  She chewed her lip, wishing she knew how to fix things.  The Charmings weren’t the only family separated by this curse.  She had to find a way to get Rumple to wake up.  She had to find a way to save her family.

* * *

The next morning, she rose early, showering and dressing, and sat at the small kitchen table with a notebook, in which she began to write down all the possible ways she could bring him back to her.  To _them_.  Gideon came top, of course.  If she could get him to hold Gideon…  She chewed her lip, trying to think of a plan, and took a slurp of coffee.  There were other possibilities, as well.  Perhaps if she took him to familiar places, like the mansion in which they had spent their honeymoon, or the wishing well.  Burgers and iced tea at Granny’s.

Belle set down her pen with a sigh.  None of this was possible.  There was no way he would agree to go on a bloody date at Granny’s when he thought she was trying to trick him into something.  Why the hell had she let her mouth run away with her in the excitement of having her memories back?  Now he thought she was at best strange and at worst manipulative.  She picked up the pen once more, tapping it against the pages.  Perhaps a sincere apology, a plea of illness…  She needed his suspicion of her to dissipate if she was ever to kiss him again, and she very much wanted to kiss him again, whether or not it would break his curse.

Draining her coffee, she closed the notebook and stood up, pulling a coat on over her woollen dress and thick tights and grabbing a scarf.  It was a cold day, and once she had collected Gideon, she intended to take a walk.  If anyone in this town would be open to discussing other realms and other lives, it would be Henry.

Mary Margaret was already dressed when Belle arrived at her apartment, both Gideon and Neal fed and changed.  She looked tired, but she greeted Belle with a wide smile and offered her tea.

“You must be exhausted,” she said.  “How did the night shift go?”

“Not great,” said Belle, pulling a face.  “Still.  Gotta make rent, right?”

“Tell me about it,” said Mary Margaret, with feeling.  “I’m just glad Ashley doesn’t charge the earth for daycare, I don’t know how I’d cope.”

Belle picked Gideon up, kissing his head and breathing in his scent.

“It’s - none of my business,” she said hesitantly.  “But doesn’t David help you out?”

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes.

“To do that, he’d have to acknowledge Neal is his,” she said wryly.  “Which he never has.”

“You could make him, you know,” said Belle, but she shook her head.

“Neal’s _my_ son,” she said firmly.  “If David doesn’t want anything to do with him, that’s his loss.  He barely leaves that bar, anyway.  What sort of example would he set?  I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, trying to make it work with him.”

“You can’t control what your heart wants.”

“Yeah, but my _brain_ still works,” remarked Mary Margaret.  “You’d think I’d know better than to hook up with Killian Jones’s bar buddy.”

“We’ve all done things we regretted,” said Belle, rocking Gideon.  “Look, I owe you one.  If you need me to watch Neal next week, I’m more than happy.”

“Really?”  Mary Margaret looked hopeful.  “Thanks, I could really do with a day when I’m _not_ paying for daycare.”

“I have Tuesday off,” said Belle.  “Bring him around before you go to school.”

She smiled at the other woman, acknowledging her grateful look.  In this town, where so many parents were raising children alone, they had to stick together.

Outside, tucking Gideon into his stroller, she thought about what Storybrooke had become.  This latest curse appeared to have separated so many families.  So many children had been abandoned by one parent or another.  Or both.  She watched as Sean - formerly Prince Thomas - got into his father’s car outside the diner.  No Ashley.  Belle knew full well that she was raising Alexandra without any help from Sean.  And there was the former Princess Abigail, who had nothing but scorn for Frederick, the school sports coach, little knowing he was her own True Love.  It was desperately sad.

Chewing her lip, she turned her thoughts to her own broken family, and what she could do to fix it.  She pushed the stroller along one of the streets that led out of town, and frowned as she passed the Mayor’s house.  The Black Fairy was in residence there.  Not that anyone believed in fairies in this town, of course.  Or magic.  She wondered if there was still magic here, or whether that too had been taken by the curse.

The road gave way to a tree-lined avenue, the houses growing more sporadic, and Belle kept an eye out for the stables, tucked in at the start of rolling fields.  The Mayor liked to ride, and kept around a dozen horses, but it was the stable boy she was looking for.  Henry was nowhere to be seen, but Regina was there, polishing a saddle as she sat on the edge of a water trough.  Belle’s mouth flattened to see the former Queen working as a groom.

“Morning,” said Belle, and Regina looked up, eyes narrowing before she saw who it was.  She smiled tiredly.

“You’re up early,” she said.  “Rough night?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” said Belle, shoving away the memories of what she had been doing.  “That looks like hard work.”

“Two down, ten to go,” sighed Regina, setting the saddle aside, and brushing back her dark hair.  “She said she wants to see her face in them.”

“So, maybe some sort of mirror shoved in the top,” suggested Belle, and Regina shot her a grin.

“You can be the one to suggest it,” she said dryly, and Belle shuddered.

“No thanks.  The less I have to do with the Mayor the better.”

“So say we all.”  Regina pushed to her feet, stretching, her red plaid shirt almost pulling out of the tight tan pants she wore.  “Which begs the question: how the hell did I end up here, _working_ for her?”

“How long has it been?” asked Belle, curious as to how much of a backstory the curse had created for each of them.  Her own fake past was thankfully something of a blur now that she had her true memories back.  Regina shrugged.

“I don’t know.  A few years?”  She sent Belle a wry smile.  “Believe me, by the twelfth saddle, time has no meaning.”

“But on the plus side, horses.”

“Yes.”  Regina looked fondly at the stables.  “There’s that, I guess.”

She put her hands on her hips, looking around with a sigh.

“It’s a beautiful day,” she said.  “I guess she’ll want to ride later.  I may take one or two of the horses out, give their legs a stretch.”

Belle pursed her lips, looking towards the stables.

“Is Henry here?” she asked, and Regina shook her head.

“After school and weekends only,” she said, sounding regretful.  “I can understand it.  His education is the most important thing, it’s just we get on so well together, I wish he could take more hours.”

“He’s a smart kid,” said Belle, with a nod.  “I guess you two have gotten pretty close, huh?”

Regina glanced at her before looking back at the stables, and Belle noticed that her eyes had softened, a tiny, sad smile on her face.

“It’s strange,” she said quietly.  “It’s almost like we met before.  In another life.”  She chuckled.  “Henry jokes that maybe I was his mom two hundred years ago.”

Belle smiled, inclining her head.

“I can see it,” she offered, and Regina shrugged, pouting a little.

“I suppose it was good of the Mayor to give him a place to stay and see to his education,” she said, bending to pick up a bridle from the pile of tack she was cleaning.  “But I don’t think he gets any affection from her.”

“He has you for that.”

“Yeah.”

Regina shaded her eyes against the winter sun, looking out across the fields.  The breeze whipped a strand of hair into her mouth, and she blew it out, tucking it behind her ear.

“I think part of it is that he hates that he’s an orphan,” she admitted.  “Maybe he’d be drawn to anyone that showed him kindness.  I expect he’ll be out of Storybrooke as soon as he turns eighteen, and to be honest, I wouldn’t blame him.”

“You really think he’ll leave?” asked Belle, and Regina’s mouth twisted.

“Well, this town doesn’t exactly have a great reputation for happy endings, does it?” she said dryly.  “I mean think about it, Belle.  How many families in Storybrooke are actually together?  It’s a - a wasteland of broken homes and children never knowing both their parents.  I guess none of us stand a chance.”

She let her head drop, looking irritated.  The sound of soft footsteps approached, and Belle looked over her shoulder, her brows lowering in curiosity at the sight of the new arrival.

“I guess some people are still together,” she said softly.

“What?”  Regina looked puzzled, and Belle shook her head.

“Never mind.  Emma!”

This last was shouted at the young blonde woman that approached.  Belle knew her, of course, at least she had known her while under the curse.  Emma Jones was a pale, drawn-looking young woman who looked as though she had once been beautiful, but was now so tired and worn that she had diminished, her life-force cowed and shrunken.  She looked around with a hunted expression, biting at her pale lips, her blonde hair scraped back into a ponytail above the flowered dress and pink coat she wore.  The clothes drained her, pulling the colour from her skin and leaving her drab and lifeless.

“Hey,” she said uncertainly, and looked towards the town.  “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” said Regina, with a nod.  “How are you?”

“Oh, you know…”  Emma shrugged, looking off into the town again.  “Killian’s not been too well, I guess.”

“No.”  Regina put her head to the side.  “I asked how _you_ were.”

“Fine,” said Emma immediately, eyes widening.  “I’m - I’m fine.  Gotta get to work.  Excuse me.”

She scurried off, and Regina frowned after her.

“I worry about her,” she said, almost to herself.

“She works at the sheriff’s station, doesn’t she?” asked Belle, and Regina curled her lip.

“Yeah.  Nottingham’s secretary.  You can imagine how _that_ would go, the man’s a menace.”

“But she’s married,” said Belle slowly, trying to pull together the pieces of her fake memories.  “She’s married to Killian, right?”

“Jones?”  Regina laughed without mirth, her dark eyes gleaming.  “Oh yeah, he’s a real prince!  You know she works two jobs just to keep that loser in rum?  Secretary to Sheriff Sex-Pest and cleaner for the Mayor.  At least the horseshit I have to deal with can be picked up with a shovel.”

Belle bit back a laugh.

“You know more about Emma’s life than I do, then,” she said.  “I didn’t know you guys were close.”

“We’re not,” said Regina shortly, and Belle was surprised to see a faint blush in her cheeks.  “I just think she puts up with a lot of crap, that’s all.  Crap no one should have to put up with.”

Belle studied her curiously, long-held suspicions needling her brain.

“Maybe she needs a break,” she suggested.  “If her husband’s out every night, maybe it’s her turn.”

“Girls’ night?”  Regina looked sceptical.  “I don’t know, it’s not like she’s ever in _The Rabbit Hole_ , unless she’s come to persuade lover-boy to go home.”

“Oh, it was just an idea,” said Belle airily.  “Anyway, I’d better get going.  Tell Henry I said hi.”

“Of course.”

Regina turned back to the pile of tack, and Belle turned the stroller and pushed it back into town.  She’d see Henry at the weekend.  There were other things she could do in the meantime.  The first of which would be to apologise.

She made her way back into town, stopping by the diner to pick up her wages for the week and her share of the tips.  Granny cooed over Gideon, bouncing him on her hip as she handed over the money, and Belle put it with what she already had, counting it out to be sure she had enough for the rent.  Or, more accurately, enough to execute phase one of her plan.  She hoped it would work.

“You’re working tomorrow, okay?” said Granny, and Belle nodded gratefully.

“Thanks.  I don’t mind which shifts I do.  If you need me to double-up on Sunday I could use the money.”

“I think we’re covered at the moment, but I’ll keep it in mind.”  Granny looked her over sharply.  “You should eat more, girl.  You’re skin and bone.”

“Running around after this one,” said Belle dryly, taking Gideon off her.  “Imagine how I’ll be when he finds his feet.”

Granny chuckled.

“Come early tomorrow, and I’ll get a decent breakfast down you before we open,” she promised, and Belle smiled gratefully.

“I will,” she promised, tucking the rest of the money into her purse.  “See you then?”

She hefted Gideon in her arms, leaving the diner and setting him down in the stroller.  Looking down the street in the direction of Mr Gold’s pawnshop, she squared her jaw.  Showtime.

* * *

Gold had arrived at work early, and was cleaning the mechanism of an old fob watch when the bell at the shop’s door rang.  He looked up, hearing the sound of footsteps on the wooden floor.

“Mr Gold?”

 _Miss French.  Here to pay her rent, or to beg another bloody extension._ He sighed to himself, getting to his feet and taking off the apron he had been wearing.  Tossing it across the workbench, he made his way through to the shop, and Belle whirled on her toes to face him.  She had brought the child, bundled up in a white woollen coat and tights with knitted booties on his feet.  A tasselled woollen hat was pulled down over his ears.  Belle caught her lower lip between her teeth, a curl of her dark hair against her pale cheek, and a memory flashed through his head.  A memory of looking down on her as he moved inside her.  As he bent to kiss her.  He swallowed, glancing away.

“Miss French,” he said coldly.  “What can I do for you?”

She hesitated, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lips, but then reached into her pocket and brandished what looked like a roll of dollar bills.

“I have the rent,” she said.  “You said today, right?”

“Right.”

Gold took the roll of money from her between finger and thumb, making sure not to touch her, and Belle bounced the baby in her arms as he walked to the counter and lifted his heavy rent ledger up onto it.

“A month’s rent, less two weeks,” he said dismissively.

“That’s what was agreed.”

“Indeed.”

He began counting out the money, sorting the bills into separate piles.

“It’s all there!” she said a little breathlessly, and he glanced up at her.  Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, her lips deep pink, and he thought how beautiful she looked.

“I’m sure it is,” he said dryly.  “I’d hate to think you were trying to screw me, Miss French.”

He licked his thumb, using it to catch the edge of a ten-dollar bill and separate it from the others, and Belle flushed, her jaw tightening.  It made him want to grin, that inner fire of hers, but she said nothing, lifting her chin defiantly, and he turned his attention back to the money.  He raised his eyes to hers when he was done.

“It’s short,” he said coldly.  “Forty dollars.”

“I - what?”  Belle looked puzzled, transferring the baby from one arm to the other.  “But I thought…”

“Are you suggesting that I don’t know how to count?”

“No, no, of course not, it’s just…”

“Forty dollars, Miss French,” he said impatiently, and her eyes widened.

“Oh!” she gasped.  “My tips!  I - I left them at Granny’s!  Could you just..?”

She shoved the baby at him, and Gold found himself holding the child in both hands as she ran from the shop, the bell above the door tinkling as she left.  There was silence, except for the ticking of several old clocks, and he turned his head back to the baby.  He was watching Gold with curious brown eyes, his lower lip full and wet, and Gold realised that he was standing with his arms outstretched, holding the child as far from his body as he could.

“Well,” he said, unsure how to proceed.  “Well.  Your mother is - she’s a very odd young woman.”

The baby burbled, waving his arms and kicking, and Gold rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know what the hell she thinks she’s doing,” he went on.  “But I’m not a babysitting service.”

The child blew a bubble of spit at him, the kicking increasing, and Gold began to worry that he’d drop him.  He turned on his heels, still holding the child out from his body, and walked through to the back room, looking for what he needed.  The baby began to grizzle, which sounded to Gold as though he was working himself up to full-blown crying.  Clearly he wanted his mother, not some stranger in a suit.  After running his eyes over the contents of some of the boxes of unused stock, he selected an old shawl, and transferred the baby to the crook of one arm while he spread the shawl over his shoulder.  He picked the baby up, holding him close and hushing him, and the child quieted at once, letting out a few grumbles as he rested his head on Gold’s shoulder, one tiny arm flailing for a moment before he stilled.

“There,” said Gold quietly.  “Not your fault, is it, lad?”

The child blinked at him, and for a moment Gold felt a tickle at the back of his mind, like a memory lost, a fragment of a dream that he tried to grasp at before it disappeared like smoke.  The baby’s eyes slid closed, and the moment was gone, so he rocked him gently, supported by one arm as he went back through to the shop.  The tinkle of the bell made him look up.

Belle almost fell into the shop, stumbling and grasping at the handle to keep herself upright.  She swept her hair out of her face, straightening up, and blinked as she saw Gold, walking out from the back room with a shawl spread across his shoulder and their son nestled in the crook of one arm.  Gideon was sleeping with his head on his father’s shoulder, his tiny fingers opening and closing instinctively, and Gold was gently rocking him.  The sight of it made her heart clench.  He had never gotten to hold his son.  Not once.  Not as a baby, anyway.  Guilt gnawed at her.  They had never gotten the chance to be a family, to bond with him.  Would that make a difference in breaking the curse?  God, she wanted to _cry_ over it all!  Gold’s face was grim, and Belle licked her lips, smoothing her skirt.

“Your rent, Miss French,” he said quietly, and she nodded, striding towards the counter.

“Forty dollars,” she said, and counted it out in front of him.  Gold nodded, one hand reaching out to fold around the bills and pull them towards him.

“I believe this is yours,” he said, and shifted Gideon, causing a disgruntled noise.

“Yes.”  Belle took him, draping him across her chest, and Gideon mumbled and fell back to sleep.  She flicked her eyes up at Gold.  “Sorry about that.”

“No matter.”

He wasn’t looking at her, already sifting through the money and running one long finger down a column of names in that infernal rent ledger.  He scratched through the figure that was written there, writing in another.  One month less two weeks.

“I - I wanted to apologise,” she said.

“You just did.”

“No, no, I mean - I mean for my behaviour last night.”

Gold’s pen stilled, but he didn’t look up.

“I don’t think we should speak of that again.”

“It’s just - oh, you must think I’m insane!” she sighed.  “Gideon’s been sick, you see, and I thought I was coming down with it too, and I _can’t_ afford to miss any more work, and so I dosed myself with that really strong Tylenol stuff.  I don’t think it reacted well to the wine.  Or - or maybe I really _am_ coming down with something.”

Gold glanced up at her, but said nothing.

“I don’t remember much of what I said,” she went on, “but I feel terrible today, and…”

“You said I was your true love and we were married in the woods by the wishing well,” he said dryly, and she didn’t have to pretend to look embarrassed.

“See?” she said awkwardly.  “I mean you would definitely remember if that had happened, right?”

Gold’s mouth twitched.  “Oh, I’d remember.”

“Well then.”  She shifted from foot to foot.  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.  No more mixing booze with cold remedies for me, unless I want a _really_ wild night.”

That tiny smirk came again, but then his mouth flattened, and she felt coldness flow out from him as he closed himself off once more.

“Apology accepted,” he said stiffly.  “Thank you, Miss French.  You’re paid up.”

He placed a tick in the margin, putting down his pen and straightening up, and Belle wanted to touch him, to take his hand in hers, to walk behind the counter and kiss him.  But he didn’t know her.  He didn’t love her.  She could have _screamed_!

“I trust we won’t have any such embarrassment again,” he said quietly, and she pulled a face, confused.

“What?”

“Your rent,” said Gold, closing the ledger with a thump.  “You won’t be seeking any further extensions, will you, Miss French?”

“I…”  She bit back her words, but he was already walking away, striding from behind the counter to the curtain that separated the shop from its back room.  She tried not to think of the times they had shared when the door had been locked and that curtain had been drawn.

“No,” she whispered.  “No, I’ll have the rent, Mr Gold.”

“Good.”

He brushed the curtain aside, stepping out of sight, and it felt as though the clouds had covered the sun.


	3. Bravery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was going to be more smut but they wanted to talk...

Belle was up late, scribbling in her notebook.  She had written down the names of everyone should could remember, and wrote what she knew about their cursed selves.  From what she had seen, almost everyone who had been part of a happy family before the curse had been separated by it.  There was only Emma, still with her pirate, although Belle thought she was just as miserable as everyone else.  Still, it had to mean something.  She had been serious when she suggested that Regina coax Emma out of the house one evening, and she wondered if there was any way she could help to make that plan a reality.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes, and set the notebook aside.  First things first.  She had to get Rumple to wake, and she had no clue how to get close to him again.  She turned off the lamp and lay down in the soft darkness, hoping that inspiration would come in her dreams, and take her a step closer to reuniting her family.

Gideon woke her early, crying to be fed and changed at just after five, and she yawned as she gave him his bottle, rocking gently and watching his arms flail a little in the air as he drank.

She decided that her first task of the day would be to see Henry, and so she made her way to the stables before her Saturday shift at the diner.  He was shovelling horse manure into a wheelbarrow, and grinned at her as he looked up.

“Hey, Belle,” he called.  “You growing vegetables at all?  Do me a favour and take some of this off my hands.”

“Sorry, Henry,” she said, with a grin.  “Although come to think of it that’s not a bad idea.”

“Anytime you want a bunch of free horse crap, I’m your guy,” he said, scraping the shovel under another pile.

“I would suggest not using that as your opening line on a date,” she remarked, and he blushed, grinning.

“Regina around?” asked Belle.

“She’s out exercising one of the horses,” he said.  “She’ll probably be back in half an hour or so, if you want to wait.”

“Actually, it’s you I wanted to see,” said Belle, picking Gideon out of the stroller and striding across the yard to sit down on a straw bale.  “Something Regina said the other day got me thinking.”

“What’s that?” he asked, shovelling another pile of manure into the barrow.

“Just that no one in this town seems to be happy,” she said.  “And it seems like there isn’t a single child that has both its parents.  Don’t you think that’s weird?”

Henry shrugged.  “Guess I think they’re lucky they at least have one,” he said.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Belle hurriedly.  “I wasn’t thinking!”

“It’s okay.”  He grounded the shovel, leaning on the handle.  “Not your fault my parents didn’t want me.”

“Who told you that?” she asked softly, and he pulled a face.

“The Mayor,” he muttered.  “I don’t think she intended to be mean, I just…”  He wrinkled his nose.  “Doesn’t matter.  Regina and I kind of joke that _she’s_ my mom, anyway.”

“Yeah, she said.”  Belle was silent for a moment, and he resumed his shovelling.  “Henry, do you like to read?”

He shot her a quizzical look.  “Of course.  Why do you ask?”

“It’s just - oh, I don’t know, it’s just that _I_ love to read, and I wondered if you had a favourite book.”

“At the moment it’s Harry Potter,” he said.  “I’m on book four.”

“Oh, that’s a great one!” she said.  “What about - what about when you were younger?  Did you like fairy tales?”

“I don’t remember.”  He scraped up horse droppings, tipping them into the barrow.  “I guess so.  We all know the stories, right?”

“Do you believe there are other worlds besides this one?” she pressed.  “Other lives we might have led?”

Henry turned to her, her brow wrinkling in puzzlement.

“I - guess,” he said slowly.  “What’s this about, Belle?”

“Oh, I just like to make up stories for Gideon,” she said, bouncing the baby on her knee.  “Sometimes I like to pretend that everyone in town is a fairy tale character, and that they’re trapped here, in this world, and don’t know who they are.”

Henry’s eyes gleamed with interest, and he laid down the shovel, crossing to sit on the straw bales beside her.

“Okay, I’ll play,” he said.  “Let’s see…  You like books, and you’re kind, and pretty, so I’m gonna say you’re Belle, from Beauty and the Beast!”

She giggled delightedly.

“And Regina would have to be a queen,” she said, “and you’re her prince.  Choose your own fairy tale.”

“I’ll have to think about that one,” he admitted, and his eyes brightened.  “Oh!  Walter up at the hospital can be Sleepy, one of the seven dwarfs.  He’s always sleeping on the job, Leroy says.  And Leroy can be Grumpy because he - well - is.”

“Mr Clark can be Sneezy, with all his allergies,” added Belle, and Henry chuckled.

“Yeah, and Granny can be the grandmother from Little Red Riding Hood,” he said.

“What about Miss Blanchard?” she suggested, and he thought for a moment.

“Black hair, pale skin, pretty, likes birds…” he said slowly, and snapped his fingers.  “Snow White!  She can be Snow White!  Pity there’s no Prince Charming in this town.”

“A great pity,” agreed Belle.

Henry thought for a moment, then nudged her with a smirk.

“Okay, so who’s Mr Gold?” he asked.

“Rumplestiltskin,” she said immediately, and he blinked.

“Really?  I don’t see how…”  His voice trailed off as he thought.  “Oh, okay, no I get it.  His name’s Gold, he makes deals, he’s kinda scary…”

“There’s even a spinning wheel in his shop,” she added.  “Maybe he can spin straw into gold.”

Henry snorted.  _“I’m_ not asking him.”

“No.”  Belle stood up.  “No, that should probably be me.  Look, I should go.  Say hi to Regina for me.”

“Sure thing.”  He stood up too, picking up the shovel again.  “I’ll try to think of some more characters for next time I see you!”

Belle grinned over her shoulder at him as she pushed the stroller back down the path.  He didn’t have his storybook, then.  Last time it was lost, it had reappeared when it was needed.  She hoped it would do the same with this new curse.

* * *

She dropped Gideon off at Ashley’s daycare and reached the diner with time to spare before her shift.  The grim look on Granny’s face made her pause, and she had a sinking feeling as she followed her through to the kitchen.  Granny turned to face her, putting fists on ample hips.

“We’re closed tomorrow,” she said abruptly, and Belle blinked.

“What?  Why?”

Granny sighed, shaking her head.

“It’s a new ordinance,” she said stiffly.  “No places of business are to open on Sunday.  With immediate effect.  The Mayor announced it at a town hall meeting yesterday afternoon, but you know those things; no one ever goes except Mr Gold and someone with an axe to grind.”

Belle shook her head, trying to process what she was being told.

“So the diner will be closed on Sunday,” she said.  “ _Every_ Sunday?”

“Every Sunday,” said Granny heavily.

“But - but Sunday is one of _my_ days!” said Belle, feeling desperate.  “I - I can’t lose eight hours a week, Granny, I just can’t!”

“I’m not happy about it either,” said Granny wearily.  “It’s a busy day for the diner, and she just wants to close me down?  I’m sorry, girl, but until we can get this thing lifted, Sundays are out.”

“Well, is there any chance of more hours during the week?” persisted Belle, and Granny’s mouth twisted.

“I can’t promise anything,” she said.  “I got two other girls that work Sunday needing extra hours too.  I’ll divide it up as evenly as I can, but you’re all gonna lose out.  I’m sorry.”

Belle shook her head, panic flaring in her.  They were barely surviving as it was.

“Not your fault,” she muttered.  “Not anyone’s fault but the Mayor’s.”  She looked up, suddenly curious.  “What was her reasoning for closing all the businesses?”

Granny gave her a wry look, folding her arms.

“She said the town should have one day per week when families can spend time together,” she said, her tone sneering.  “What a joke!  There isn’t a family in Storybrooke that isn’t broken apart!  What the hell is she thinking?  That taking tea together every Sunday is gonna fix this town?”

“It won’t if we all get evicted because we can’t make rent,” said Belle gloomily, dread creeping over her.  There was something else there, though.  A spark of hope.  She sighed, running her hands over her face.

“I’d best get to work,” she said, and Granny nodded.

“Breakfast first,” she said firmly.  “I promised, remember?  Grab an apron and take a seat, I’ll bring it out to you.”

Belle snatched an apron from the clean pile on the countertop, tying it around her waist.  She was worried about the loss of money, but perhaps she could turn it to her advantage.  If she was unable to make rent, through no fault of her own, perhaps Gold would be willing to make another deal with her.  Perhaps she could kiss him again.

She waited until her shift was over, then popped into Ashley’s, asking if she could wait another hour before collecting Gideon.  Hurrying home, she showered and changed, dressing carefully in one of her nicer outfits.  There was no time to lose.

* * *

Gold locked his safe, tucking the keys into his pocket, and flicked off the light in the back room.  It had been a slow day, and he was looking forward to getting home and taking a long shower.  Hopefully he would sleep better than he had the previous evening.  The urgent tinkling of the bell above the door made him sigh.

“We’re closed,” he said, looking up, and blinked as Belle hurried across to him, leaning on the counter with splayed hands, her curls bouncing around her shoulders.

“The Mayor’s closed everything on Sundays,” she said, without preamble, and he frowned briefly.

“Yes, I know,” he said.

“ _Everything_ ,” she repeated.  “Including Granny’s!  She can’t _do_ that!”

“She’s already done it,” he said calmly.  “The decision was announced at the last town hall meeting.  A meeting that was very poorly attended, I might add.”

“But - but some of us _work_ Sundays!” protested Belle.  “Don’t you understand?  I need that shift just to get by!”

“Well, I don’t know why you’re complaining to me about it,” he said, raising an eyebrow.  “It wasn’t a decision I had any control over, Miss French.  I suggest you take it up with the Mayor.”

He stepped out from behind the counter, crossing to flick off the main lights, and the shop was plunged into gloom, the weak side lamps the only brightness in the heavy dark.  Belle turned to face him.

“Mr Gold, you own most of Storybrooke,” she said.  “You must have _some_ influence!  Can’t you make her change her mind?”

“And why would I do that?” he asked dismissively.

“Because if I lose eight hours a week, there’s no way I’ll be able to pay the rent!”

He turned slowly on the balls of his feet.  She was staring at him, her chest heaving in consternation, and he remembered how she had looked on his bed, naked and panting.  It was a pleasant, but highly distracting image, and he tried to concentrate on something less alluring.

“Do I need to remind you, yet again, of your obligations under the contract?” he asked quietly, and Belle raised her chin, putting her hands on her hips.  Her defiance was delicious.

“No,” she said firmly.  “And I’m paid up to the end of the month anyway, right?”

“Correct.”  He inclined his head.  “So why are you here, Miss French?”

Belle licked her lips, taking a breath.

“Because I want to make a new deal,” she said.

Gold was silent for a moment, watching her.

“I’m not in the business of changing the terms of a rental agreement.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she said hurriedly.  “Not much, anyway.  I’d just - I’d like to offer another deal like - like the one we made last time.”

He felt a pull in his groin at the memory of it, a twitch of desire.  She couldn’t be serious.

“Ah yes, and that ended _so_ well,” he said dryly, and she took a step forward.

“I apologised for that,” she said wretchedly.  “It was the meds, I told you!  It won’t happen again!”

“You’re right, it won’t.”

He took a step towards the door, and felt her grasp at his arm, her touch desperate, as it had been the first time, when he had threatened to evict her.

“Please!” she begged, and he turned slowly to face her.

Her lower lip was trembling, as though she was about to cry, and a part of him wanted to take away the pain, to tell her that her rent payment was a drop in the vast ocean of his wealth, and that she didn’t need to give him anything.  He wouldn’t, though.  Precedents were bad, and he was damned if he’d be setting another.  Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed, and he thought he would never see anyone as beautiful as she in the whole of his life.  God, he was an idiot!

“Please,” she repeated.  “I can’t be homeless, Mr Gold, I have a son to take care of.”

“And you’d rather become a whore, is that it?”

Belle closed her eyes, swallowing, her dark lashes fluttering.

“I - don’t see it that way,” she said stiffly.  “It’s not as though I plan on sleeping with anyone else.  And it’s not as though I didn’t enjoy it, is it?  You enjoyed it too, you told me so.”

“So - what?” he sneered.  “You think that makes you special?”

She folded her arms, glaring at him, and her eyes flashed blue fire.

“Doesn’t it?” she demanded.  “Is there anyone _else_ in this town who’s banged you until you forgot your own name?”

His eyes widened in shock, and an unexpected desire to laugh rose in him, until a chuckle bubbled up out of his throat.  Belle blushed furiously, and took a step back, bowing her head.  She looked mortified, and it only made him laugh harder.

“Well, you have me there,” he admitted, smirking.

“Sorry,” she muttered.  “I - I have no idea where that came from.”

“No need to hide your true self from me, dearie,” he said, deeply amused.  “I’d far rather you spoke your mind than tried to flatter me.”

She was chewing her lip, shifting her feet a little, embarrassment radiating from her.  He shook his head, unable to believe that he was actually considering her offer.

“Come through to the back room,” he said abruptly, and strode across the shop, flicking the light back on.

It took her a moment to join him, her cheeks still a little flushed, and she raised her chin to face him.  He rested a hand on the workbench, feeling the texture of wood grain beneath his fingertips.

“What exactly is it that you’re proposing?” he asked, and she looked uncertain for a moment.

“I - well - if I can no longer work Sundays, it’s not just next month’s rent I’ll have a problem with,” she said.  “It’s going to be every month.”

“I see,” he said coolly.  “And are there any others you know of who’ll have this same issue?”

“Two of the other waitresses, I guess,” she said.  “Although if I tell Granny to give them any extra hours that are during the week, and leave me out of it, then perhaps not.”

“And how would you explain your sudden lack of need for additional hours?” he asked.

“I - well, I could just say I got a second job,” she said.  “Not like I’d be the first in this town.”

He nodded.

“So again I ask,” he said.  “What are you proposing?”

Belle took a deep breath, squaring her jaw.

“I propose a regular arrangement,” she said.  “Once a week.  Let’s say Sundays.”

“In return for what?”

“In return for you waiving my rent in full,” she said, and his mouth flattened.

“No.”

 _“No?”_  She put her hands on her hips.  “Just like that?”

“Once every other Sunday, and I lower the month’s charge by a week,” he offered, and she glared at him.

“Are you _kidding_ me?  You made a deal for two weeks rent-free just for one night with me!”

“Well, I was throwing you a bone,” he said, with an offhand gesture, noting the way her hands flexed, as though she wanted to slap him.  “You can’t expect a regular arrangement to carry the same value.  Your charms are no longer a mystery, after all.”

“Why, you…”  Her mouth worked, and he admired her ability to remain calm.  “Fine!  Once every Sunday and I pay you one week’s rent every month.”

“You’re hardly in a position to bargain, Miss French,” he said lazily.  “Be content that I’m even considering this arrangement.  Once every Sunday, for the whole night, and two hours together during the week, on the day of your choosing.”

She gave him a calculating look.

“In exchange for what?”

“I can offer you half rent,” he suggested.  “That’s as low as I’ll go.”

She pursed her lips, looking him up and down.  Surely she wouldn’t agree to that.  It was an even worse deal than he had first suggested.

“Alright,” she said.  “I guess we should start tomorrow night.”

He blinked.

“What?”

“Tomorrow,” she said patiently.  “It’s Sunday.”

“But…”  He swallowed, trying to regain the upper ground with her.  “You’re paid up to the end of the month.”

“Yeah, well, I can store up credit just in case, right?  Never know when Gideon’s going to get sick.”

“I…”

He opened and closed his mouth, momentarily lost for words, and the corner of her mouth pulled upwards, a tiny smirk that made him clench his jaw.   _Oh, so she wants a battle of wills, does she?_

“Fine,” he said coldly.  “My house.  Eight o’clock.”

“No.”

He blinked again.

“Excuse me?”

Belle took a deep breath, a slight flush in her cheeks.

“If I keep going to your house, people will talk,” she said hurriedly.  “And I’m sure you don’t want that.  I have a better idea.”

“Well, if you think I have any intention of slumming it in your hovel twice a week…” he drawled, and she shook her head, although her mouth tightened with anger.

“No.  Also, you’re a bastard.”

“Well, I’ve never denied that…”

“There’s a place,” she said stiffly.  “A mansion on the edge of town.  No one lives there.”

“I know the place,” he said.  “You want to go there?”

“Why not?”

 _Why not indeed?_  He met her eyes, slowly drumming his fingers on the bench, and she lifted her chin defiantly, making him want to kiss her.

“So - do we have a deal?” she prompted.

Gold hesitated, almost afraid to speak the words, to make it real.  This - whatever it was that they now had.  He pulled in a breath, catching the scent of her on the air.

“You are - a very singular young woman,” he said eventually.

“Is that a yes?”

_God she’s beautiful!  And brave as a lioness.  Say no, you bloody idiot!  Say no and walk the fuck away before you tear your heart out and throw it at her feet!_

“Yes,” he said, and it was as though something shifted around him.  As though he had been waiting to make that decision all his miserable life.  As though it was fate.

* * *

The next night, Belle walked across town with a small overnight bag slung over her shoulder, her head held high, hoping and praying that this would be the last time she would have to pretend not to be in love with the man she was meeting.  She had asked Mary Margaret to have Gideon for the night again.  He was usually with her during the day on Sundays anyway, but Belle explained about the loss of the Sunday shift, and the need for a second job, and so she told Mary Margaret that she had managed to get a regular Sunday night shift at the hospital, cleaning.  She tried to offer money for the trouble, but Mary Margaret wouldn’t hear of it, and so they agreed that Belle would take Neal every Tuesday in return.

She was wearing a blue dress, the skirt flaring out over her hips beneath her winter coat.  It had been one of Rumple’s favourites when they were together, simple but elegant, and she was hoping to give his memory a nudge.  She had tried to find the skirt and blouse she had worn for their wedding, but whatever damage the curse had done to this town had resulted in few of her old clothes making it into her wardrobe.  Belle tried to comfort herself over the loss by deciding that, should she not succeed in breaking his curse that night, it would be too painful to have tried to do so in her wedding outfit.  Besides, it was hardly the season for white skirts and see-through blouses.

She paused outside the Sorcerer’s mansion, chewing her lip.  They had been so happy then.  Newly married and in love, desperate to see how many rooms in the mansion they could be naked in.  She had barely slept those first few days of married life, her limbs entwined with his, their bodies as one, blissful in her ignorance of what he was doing.  How had everything fallen apart so terribly since then?

Shaking her head, she strode to the door.  What was done was done, and they had to move forward.  His car was on the driveway, which meant that he was already inside.  The door opened as she raised her hand to knock, and Gold looked out at her, his expression neutral.  He was wearing blue again, his shirt the colour of midnight, damask roses catching the light from the lamps in the hallway.  She licked her lips.

“Hey,” she said, aware that she sounded nervous.  Gold nodded.

“Come in,” he said, and turned away.

She ducked inside, and he closed the door behind her, shutting out the night.  She looked around, remembering the layout of the house, and wandered along the hallway as though she was exploring.  She found the door to the library, and pushed it open, hearing Gold behind her as she sauntered in.  Books lined the walls, and she remembered sitting here with him, drinking tea while curled by his side on one of the couches, a book in her lap.  He had stroked her hair with soothing fingers, and later kissed her hard, laying her down on the rug before the fire.  She ran her fingers across the spines of the books on the shelves.

“All these books, and no one to read them,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him.  “It seems such a shame.”

“Do you like to read?” he asked, and she straightened, turning with a smile.

“Oh, I _love_ it!  I wanted to be a librarian, you know.  Went to college and everything.”

Gold raised an eyebrow.

“What happened?  How is it that you ended up waiting tables?”

She pulled a face, dredging up her cursed memories.

“My father got sick,” she explained.  “I came home to take care of him for a few months, and for some reason I never left.  And Storybrooke Library has been closed for as long as anyone can remember.”

“The clock tower.”  He nodded slowly.  “Yes.  I’ve often wondered why it was closed.  No doubt there’s a need for the service.”

“I guess you’d have to ask the Mayor,” she said vaguely, and wandered out of the room again.

Belle walked the length of the hallway, sensing that he was following her, and turned off into a large room which had a grand piano at one end, patterned rugs on the floor and a double-ended chaise in cream and crimson striped silk set before the wide fireplace with its carved wooden mantelpiece.  She set her bag down by the fireplace and shrugged off her coat, draping it over her arm and turning to face him.  He was standing in the doorway, fiddling with his wedding ring again, and she wished she still wore hers.  She walked slowly over to the chaise, running a hand over the silk covers, a tiny smile on her face as she remembered what they had done there on their honeymoon.  Rumple had had to clean the thing with magic afterwards, but it had been worth it.

“Would you like a drink?”  His voice was quiet, and she turned to find him still standing in the doorway, watching her.

“Maybe later,” she said, and she tossed her coat aside and held out a hand.  After a moment’s hesitation, he walked across to join her, and she put her hands on his waist, meeting his eyes.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

He reached up to cup her face with his hands, his fingers gently caressing her skin, and slowly lowered his mouth to hers.  Belle moaned at its touch, and heard his breathing quicken as he pressed his lips to hers, his tongue flickering out to tease the inside of her mouth.  Her hands tightened on his waist, and she pressed herself against him as his fingers pushed through her hair.  God, it felt good to kiss him!  She could feel her desire surge, her heart thumping in her chest, and she slid her hands up his back, tugging him against her.  He was already hardening, and she shifted her hips a little, rubbing against him and making him groan into her mouth.

Belle pulled free, kissing down his neck, feeling the gentle scrape of his stubble against the softness of her lips.  Gold let his head roll back with a gasp, and she stroked her tongue across his skin, picking up the sharp, bitter taste of his cologne.

“Do you - do you want to go upstairs?” he asked breathlessly, and she pulled back, meeting his eyes, trying to pour everything she felt for him into her gaze.

“Not yet,” she whispered, and licked her lips, watching his dark eyes follow the path of her tongue.

Belle sank down onto the chaise, her head level with his waist, her fingers reaching up to pull open the buckle of his belt.  She could see where he was hard, the length of him pushing outwards against the fly of his pants, and she tugged open the button and unzipped him, reaching inside his underwear to free his cock.

“Belle!” he said desperately, and she flicked her eyes up to meet his.

“Is this okay?” she asked, and Gold swallowed, nodding.

She had done this for him before, in this very spot, her curiosity piqued by things she had read, but she was by no means an expert.  Nonetheless, it had given her great pleasure to see him come apart at the feel of her mouth on him, and she wanted to do it again.  She could feel the heat from him, and she took him in hand, bending her head to him and drawing her tongue up the length of him.  Gold let out a strangled noise, his hands still buried in her hair, and she nudged him with her lips, blowing cool air against him before licking him again.  He tasted of salt, and the heady scent of himself, and she drew her tongue up him once more, the tip of her tongue running around the base of the head.

“Fuck, Belle!” he gasped, and she grinned to herself, circling the head with the soft underside of her tongue before flicking it across the tip.  Gold grimaced.

“God, woman!”

A bead of fluid squeezed out, and she caught it on her tongue, swallowing it and wetting her lips before taking him in her mouth.  Gold groaned, his hands tightening in her hair, and she took him deep, her hands sliding around to grab his rear and pull him closer.  She wrapped her tongue around his length, sucking hard, and glanced up at him as she let his cock slide in and out between her lips.  He was watching her with widened eyes, his mouth open and chest heaving, and his hands shook as he stroked her hair, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks.  She held his gaze, her cheeks hollowing around him, her throat closing up as he hit the soft flesh at the back of her palate.

 _“Fuck!”_ he breathed.

Belle wanted to smile, but she kept her concentration, her lips sliding against him, saliva making him slippery.  She sucked hard, moving her head so that the tip of his cock rubbed against her palate, swallowing down the faint taste of salt as he neared his peak.  His cock was rigid in her mouth, and he was panting, his eyes closed and head thrown back, his hips rocking a little, thrusting instinctively as she her lips pulled at him.

“Oh God that’s amazing!” he whispered.  “Oh, Belle, I can’t...”

She heard him let out a long, low groan, and felt his cock pulse in her mouth, thick fluid hitting the back of her throat and spattering across her tongue.  She sucked hard, swallowing down the salty taste of his seed and feeling his legs shake, his hands tugging at her hair.

Gold let his head drop, his breath coming in pants, and Belle slowly pulled back, letting him slip from her mouth.  She was gazing up at him calmly, and he brushed back her hair with trembling hands, her lips full and red and glistening.  He tucked himself back into his underwear and dropped to his knees on the rug, taking her face in his hands and pulling her to him for a messy kiss.  He could taste himself on her tongue, and he moved in between her parted knees, letting his hands drop to her waist and tug her close.  Belle teased his tongue with hers, and he broke free with a gasp, his heart still thudding in his chest as he kissed down her neck.  She let out a tiny moan, her fingers digging into the shoulders of his suit jacket, and he tightened his grip around her waist, picking her up and turning her so that he could lay her down and crawl up beside her.  The chaise was narrow, and he tugged her close, still kissing her throat, her hands opening up his jacket and sliding around his waist as his fingers trailed up her thigh beneath the skirt of her dress, brushing against the edge of her underwear.

She moaned as he slipped a finger beneath the hem at the top of her thigh, and he shuddered with excitement at the feel of slippery fluid there.  Gold pulled his hand free and slid it down the front of her panties, where he was able to feel more of her.  Her flesh was wet and swollen, her clit a tiny pearl beneath his thumb, and she let out a cry as he stroked her, breathing heavily.  He slid a finger through her flesh, sucking on her neck, and Belle arched upwards as he gently pushed a finger inside her.

“Feels good!” she gasped, and he grinned against her neck, rubbing his thumb against her and making her moan.

“Another?” he whispered, and she nodded fiercely, so he slipped a second finger into her, pushing and sliding, listening to her breathing grow hard and ragged.  He pulled her closer, the skirt of her dress hiked up around her waist and her long, pale legs twitching a little as he slid his fingers in and out of her.  Her head was thrown back against the bolster cushions, her lips parted, her chest heaving, and he wanted her again, wanted to take her to bed and peel the clothes from her and bury himself in her flesh.  He could feel her body stiffening, the muscles growing tight as she neared climax, and he nipped at her jaw with his teeth as she came with a cry, lifting up off the chaise as she did so.  She fell back, panting, and he slipped his fingers out, sucking them clean one by one.  He took her face in his hands, nuzzling her with his nose, and kissed her deeply as she twined her arms around his neck.

“Will you come to bed?” he whispered, his lips brushing hers.  “Come upstairs, Belle.  Come to bed with me.”

She nodded, still catching her breath, and so he pulled back, getting to his feet and buckling his belt before taking her hand to help her up.  He kept a hold of her hand, walking slowly out of the room and up the stairs to where he knew a large and beautifully-decorated bedroom awaited.  It had been a good idea of hers to come here.  The mansion had been costing him money for years, being too large for any of the Storybrooke residents to afford to rent, and there being no interest from potential purchasers.  He visited it once a month, and had a cleaner come in to keep the dust off everything, as one never knew when a buyer might come forward.  It was a beautiful place, and there was a part of him that thought Belle deserved this luxury, that she shouldn’t be living in a tiny one-bed with second-hand furniture.  She should have a castle, or a grand house in the country, and be dressed in silks.  Another, more calculating part of him thought that them meeting here rather than at his home would keep some distance between them.  Letting her get too close would be a mistake.

He led her into the bedroom, where a fire burned in the hearth.  He wasn’t sure what had made him light it, or the candles grouped on one of the dressers and throwing warm, gentle light across the room.  It had seemed right, though.  Atmosphere, he supposed.  God help him, he was getting romantic in his old age.  He reminded himself that there was nothing romantic about this arrangement.  She was desperate to avoid eviction, and he was too much of a bastard to just cut her a fucking break for a few months.  So she had resorted to this, and he, craving her touch as he did, had agreed.  Shame settled on him, thick and heavy, weighing him down.  Belle was taking off her shoes, and watched him curiously, flicking her hair out of her eyes and oblivious to his internal struggle.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, and Gold shook his head, shoving away his self-loathing and sealing it up in a box at the back of his mind.

“Nothing,” he said quietly.  “It’s nothing.  Come here.”

She straightened up, bare toes flexing in the thick pile of the rug, and he shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of the dresser chair and taking her in his arms.  Belle gazed up at him, and he rested his forehead against hers for a moment before pulling back.

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered, and she looked surprised.

“You know why,” she said, and he shook his head.

“No,” he said quietly.  “No, you didn’t have to make the deal you made.  You could have struck a far better deal with me, but you barely tried.  There’s something else.”

Belle caught her lower lip between her teeth, letting it fall free.

“Well, maybe I like you,” she ventured, and he sent her a weary smile.

“No one likes me, Miss French.”

“Perhaps,” she said.  “Perhaps no one really knows you, hmm?”

Gold raised an eyebrow.  “Oh, and you think you do?”

“I’d like to.”  She reached up to touch his cheek, feeling the first growth of new stubble beneath her fingertips.  “I think - I think we’re both lonely.  Both lost.  Like everyone in this town.”

“Yes.”  He was quiet for a moment.  “It’s not the happiest place in the world, is it?”

“Families torn apart,” she said, dropping her eyes.  “Children without parents.  It’s almost as though the town is…”

“...cursed,” he finished, and she sent him a wry smile.

“Well, given my weird behaviour the other night, I didn’t want to be the one to say it.”

He smiled, and reached up to stroke her hair back, his thumbs stroking the smooth skin of her cheeks.  There was a tightness in his chest, and he was well aware that he was already halfway to being in love with her.  This was a bad idea.  To let her in could bring him nothing but pain.  He should end it.  He should tell her to go, and suggest she work at his damn shop for the rent money or something.  He should do anything but what he wanted, which was to lay her down by the fire and spend the rest of the night making her cry out in pleasure.

Belle smiled up at him, her eyes wide and dark in the low light, her skin a warm shade of apricot in the dancing flames.  The light flickered in the depths of her eyes, and he thought he had never seen anything so beautiful.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, and, weak-minded fool that he was, he did.


	4. Compassion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We left Belle trying desperately to break Rumple's curse with kisses and sex, but it wasn't going well. Fast forward to later that evening (yes, I can hear the booing from some of you perverts, there'll be more smut next chapter)

_The sun was shining through the floor-length windows, the light diffused by long mesh curtains and reflected off the polished wooden floor.  Belle beamed at him, her hands clasped behind her back, dressed in a short white skirt and a see-through lace blouse (a look which he very much appreciated) and Gold clicked his fingers.  Her outfit changed as if by magic, into a pale yellow ballgown, her milky shoulders bared to his sight and her dark curls tumbling free.  Another click of his fingers, and a tune began playing from the gramophone in the corner, a light piano piece.  Belle looked down at herself in awe, and he took a step forward, unable to keep the tiny smile from his face._

_“Care to dance, Mrs Gold?”_

_Her face broke into a smile, and she bit her lip, gazing at him with eyes filled with joy and adoration._

_“I would love to,” she said softly, and he stepped close, taking her hand and pressing his forehead to hers as she ran her fingers up to his shoulder._

Gold awoke with a start, blinking in the faint moonlight.  He pushed himself up on his hands, glancing to the side, where Belle was sleeping, her head nestled on the pillow and an arm thrown across his waist.  A strange dream.  Stranger still to wake up to find her there beside him after so many years of sleeping alone.  He lay back and folded his arms behind his head with a sigh.  They had well and truly tired themselves out that evening, Belle seeming almost desperate, hungry for his touch and his kiss, and he had felt as though he was losing his mind at times, wrapped up in her as he was.

For a moment he allowed his mind to drift, to imagine how it would be to wake up beside her every day.  To imagine how it might feel to trust someone enough to let them in.  To have a child in his home again, creating noise and mess and the most wonderful chaos, even if it wasn’t his.  He didn’t know the history there, and she had not seemed to want to discuss the father.  None of his business, anyway.  His mouth twisted as he shoved away the brief visions of a path his life could take.  A ridiculous fantasy.  They barely knew one another, and despite her claiming to like him, he was well aware that she was only sleeping with him to stop her and her son being put out on the streets.  For a moment his self-disgust was almost overwhelming.

“Fucking idiot!” he muttered.

He rubbed his hands over his face, breathing in the scent of her still on his fingers, and threw back the covers so that he could pad silently to the bathroom.  As he washed his hands, he looked himself over with a critical eye in the mirror above the washbasin, lip curling at what he saw there.  Belle hadn’t batted an eyelid when she first got him naked, and she was certainly enthusiastic about their activities, but he was under no illusions about where he ranked against the other men in Storybrooke.  At least excess weight had never been a problem for him, but he failed to see what she could possibly be attracted to, if indeed she was.  He was thin, and greying, and at least twice her age.  It had to be the money, then.  He supposed he could understand that, poor as she was.  He’d been so himself, when he was young, and he’d worked every hour there was just to escape that crushing poverty.  There was no sense in thinking that her interest in him went any further than his bank account, no matter her smiles and touches, and the intensity of the sex.  God, it hurt, though.

Gold scowled at his reflection, and dried his hands on a towel.  She was fulfilling her part of the contract, as was he.  She owed him nothing more.  Flicking off the light, he went back through to the bedroom, and turned on one of the lamps.  He was a little hungry, and wondered if she wanted something to eat as well.  Or perhaps a drink.  He had brought supplies, after all, as though this was a proper bloody date and not a horrible, clinical arrangement under which she let him fuck her to keep a roof over her head.  Half-rent in exchange for one night per week with her, plus two hours on a weekday.  He had no idea what had made him add that second condition.  Did he honestly expect her to turn up at his shop, lock the door behind her and ride him hard in the back room?  Yet more evidence of his own pathetic desperation.  Shaking his head, he slipped into bed beside her, breathing in the scent of her, his arm sliding around her waist and tugging her close.

Belle woke at his touch, and smiled as she felt Gold spoon up around her, his skin a little chilled.  It felt delicious against her own heat, and she wriggled in his arms, turning to face him.  She raised her head to kiss him, and he pushed her onto her back as his mouth met hers, his tongue gently stroking.  It was disappointing that her kiss, that their coupling, had still not broken his curse, but she was determined to keep trying.  After a moment, Gold pulled back, pushing himself up on his elbows and looking down on her with a tiny smile, and she inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of him in her nose and the comforting, familiar weight of his body.

“Comfortable bed,” she said, and he nodded, glancing around the room.  The fire was still burning, tongues of flame licking over the glowing embers.

“I didn’t think anyone in town knew about this place,” he said.  “No one ever comes here but me.  What brought you here?”

“Sneaked in to have sex one time,” she said promptly, and he blinked at her before chuckling.

“Really?”

“With Gideon’s father,” she added.  “That was a long night.  Actually, a long couple of days.”

“So we’re carrying on a tradition of you breaking into other people’s houses in order to behave inappropriately, then?” he asked, amused.

“I didn’t need to break in,” she corrected.  “You opened the door.”

“Indeed I did.”

His grin widened, his eyes crinkling, and she stroked his hair, ruffling the short strands and watching them gleam in the light.

“What happened?” asked Gold.  “With - with you and the baby’s father?  When we spoke before you seemed - bitter.”

Belle hesitated.  It was on the tip of her tongue to feed him the lie the curse had chosen for her, but to do so would be an insult to Gideon, and to him.  A version of the truth, then.

“I - wasn’t exactly honest with you about that,” she admitted, and he shook his head.

“Belle, it’s none of my business, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s okay,” she assured him, and chewed her lip, trying to find the words.  Gold was watching her, his eyes almost black in the low light, flecks of flame dancing in them, and she stroked his cheek, his stubble rasping against her fingertips.  

“Gideon’s father was… well, he used to say that he was a difficult man to love,” she said, “and maybe that was true…”

She cut off, swallowing hard, and Gold waited for her to continue.  She could feel pain and loss threatening to pour over her and make her weep, and she blinked rapidly

“He said - he said he was a difficult man to love,” she whispered, “but I loved him.  I loved him so, so much!  Even in the worst times.  Even when it hurt, and a part of me wished I couldn’t, I loved him.”

Gold’s cheek twitched, and sadness flowed into his eyes.  She wondered if any of the townsfolk that insulted him behind his back were aware of the empathy of which he was capable, even in his cursed state.  Somehow she doubted they cared.

“How is it that you’re not together?” he asked, and Belle pulled a face.

“Because I’m an idiot,” she said tiredly, “and so is he.  We’re both idiots.  I’d push for him to open up, and he’d pull away.  Or I’d speak without thinking and - and he wouldn’t speak at _all_ , and it just made everything worse.”

Gold pulled a face that was somewhat rueful, and she wondered if he recognised anything about himself in her description.

“That sounds - difficult,” he offered, and she inclined her head.

“I loved him,” she repeated.  “And - and he loved me, it was just - just that sometimes, we didn’t always show it in the best way.  We were both - insecure, I guess.  We made mistakes.  Caused one another terrible pain.  I - I wish I could take it back.”

“Everyone makes mistakes in relationships with those they love,” he said quietly.  “There’s no shame in it, Belle.  You can’t blame yourself.”

“We were both at fault,” she sighed.  “There were always - barriers.  Obstacles.  We spent more time apart than we did together.  And just when I thought things were better, he - well, I guess he left, for want of a better word.  It seemed like the fates just didn’t want us together.”

“Perhaps there’ll be an opportunity,” he said.  “In the future.  Perhaps he’ll come back.”

“I hope so.”

“I don’t suppose he’d approve of our arrangement, however,” he added, and she sent him a sad smile, stroking her fingers through his hair.

“He’d understand,” she said.  “He’d understand that I had to do what I could to protect my child.  Family was always the most important thing to him.”

“And yet he doesn’t know he’s a father?” asked Gold, sounding perplexed, and she shook her head.

“Not yet,” she said, “but I hope one day he will.”

She gazed up at him, wishing she could send her thoughts directly into his brain, wishing there was some way to reach him.  His mouth twitched at one corner, the way it did when he was trying to keep things internalised, but he touched her cheek, his eyes growing soft.  He kissed her again, gently at first, and then more roughly, his lips pushing hers apart so that she could explore his mouth with her tongue.  She tugged him close, feeling him twitch against her leg, and Gold pulled back, a little breathless.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.  “I brought something to eat, and some wine, if you like.”

Belle pouted, making him grin.

“Does it involve getting out of bed?”

“Doesn’t have to.”

“Well, okay then.”

She watched as he pulled away and got up, the firelight shining warmly on his skin as he bent to retrieve a basket from near the fireplace and carry it over to the bed.  He sat down and opened it up, and Belle peered inside to see translucent plastic tubs with unknown contents, a bag of grapes and a bottle of wine.

“You - brought a - a picnic,” she said, surprised, and he looked at the basket.

“Yes, I suppose I did.”  He frowned.  “I’m sorry, perhaps I should have offered you a proper dinner.”

“No, no,” she said hurriedly.  “No, I like it.  It’s kind of - I like it.”

“Right.”  He lifted out the bottle of wine, eyeing her.  “I suppose it’s a little odd, now you mention it.  Not as though this is an actual date, is it?”

Belle dropped her eyes.

“No,” she said quietly.  “I guess not.”

She watched him fish a corkscrew out of the basket and start to open the wine.  None of it had worked.  He was still cursed.

* * *

The morning seemed to come all too soon, and Belle was still tired when the sun shining in through the windows made her eyes flutter open.  She was nestled against Gold’s chest, her head rising and falling with his breath, and for a moment she closed her eyes again and simply let herself go, enjoying the feel of his arms around her and the firm heat of his body.  It had been so long since they had spent the night together, not since Gideon’s conception, and even then he had been dressed when she woke alone in their bed.  Just for a moment, she wanted to pretend that everything was fine, and that they were happy, and whole, and together.

Her thoughts strayed to Gideon, and whether it would help to have he and his father interact a little more, and she chewed her lip as she thought it over, her fingers lightly stroking Gold’s chest.  He stiffened a little, inhaling sharply as he woke, his arm tightening around her, and she tried not to sigh.  This was the end of their night together, and he still didn’t know her.  Gold blinked, turning his head to face her, and his mouth quirked in a brief smile.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

How could one tiny word upset her so much, after all the terrible things he had said to try to push her away?  She squeezed her eyes shut, tears pricking at them, and nestled her head against his chest so she wouldn’t have to see him.  It was so hard to look in his eyes and see no love for her there.

“I should go,” she said, and he loosened his arm from around her, letting her pull away.  She slipped out of bed and rummaged in her overnight bag for clean clothes, dressing hurriedly with her back to him, and she could feel him watching her as she zipped her dress and tugged on her shoes.

“Do you want a ride home?” he asked, and she shook her head, still not looking at him.

“I have to collect Gideon first,” she said, her tone short, frustration rising in her at their situation, at her own failure to break his curse.

“That’s no problem, I can drop you off.”

“Mary Margaret needs to get to school on time,” she said impatiently.  “I can’t be late, and you dropping me off at her place when I told her I was working a bloody night shift is a ridiculous idea.”

Gold was silent, and Belle rolled her eyes.  She knew she was being snappy, and was cross with herself about it, because it wasn’t his fault, but it was all just so _unfair_!  She turned to face him, and he was sitting up in bed with his arms draped over his raised knees, watching her with a wary, closed-off expression.   _Great.  One step forward, two massive bloody steps back!  I_ hate _this!_

She pulled on her coat, dragging a brush through her hair.  It hurt _so much_ that the kiss had worked for her, and not for him.  Did he really no longer love her?  She told herself she didn’t believe it, and tried to ignore the snide inner voice, the sound of her own fear, that whispered that he loved his power more than he had ever loved her.

“So I guess we do this again next Sunday,” she said stiffly, and he gave her a curt nod.

“Oh, and there’s the two-hour thing, right?” she added.  “I’ll come to the shop.  What are you expecting, by the way?  Quick bone in the back room?  Me blowing you under the counter while you tally your rent book?”

Gold looked pained, and she wished she could bite her tongue, pull the words from the air and crush them.  She wished that she could take it back.  It _wasn’t_ his fault.

“Belle, you don’t have to…”

“Is Wednesday good for you?” she interrupted.  “It’s probably best for me.”

“As you wish, Miss French,” he said, in a cold voice, his eyes glinting darkly as he walled her off completely.  “Wednesday it is.”

“Great, then I’ll see you.”

She stomped out without waiting for his response, heading for the stairs, and managed to wait until she was outside the house before she dissolved into tears.   _Miss French.  I’m Miss bloody French again, and it’s all my own bloody fault!_  God, it hurt!  Why hadn’t she broken his curse?  What more was needed?  She was tempted to march into the Mayor’s office, confront the Black Fairy, and _demand_ to know how to break it.  To do so would be incredibly reckless, of course, and would likely lead to her being dosed with more fake memories to keep her in line.  For some twisted reason the Black Fairy wanted to keep families apart, and she supposed the fact that she still had Gideon was a blessing, considering.  Dashing away her tears with the heels of her hands, she marched back into town.  She needed a new plan, and quickly.

* * *

She got to Mary Margaret’s with time to spare, and although the other woman looked at her curiously, she didn’t say anything about the fact that Belle had obviously been crying, merely insisting that she sit down and drink some cocoa with her before she went on her way.  Belle was grateful, the hot drink soothing with its whipped cream and cinnamon topping, and she held Gideon close as Mary Margaret chattered about how he and Neal had woken her up with synchronised screaming at five a.m.

“Other than that, they weren’t any trouble,” she added.  “Are you sure you’re still okay to take Neal tomorrow?”

“I’ll come over first thing,” promised Belle.  “Any plans for your night off?”

Mary Margaret raised a brow with a hint of a smile.

“I thought I might actually dust off the one nice dress that still fits me and go to Granny’s for a drink or two,” she said.  “Not that it’s particularly busy on a Tuesday night, I guess, but the change of scene would be good.”

“You should get Regina to go,” said Belle suddenly.  “And Emma.  Ask Emma to go.”

“Jones?”  Mary Margaret looked vague.  “You know, I’ve never seen her out at night except when she’s collecting her useless husband.”

“Exactly,” said Belle, bouncing Gideon on her knee.  “She needs a break more than any of us.  Regina and I were saying as much the other day.”

“Well, the more the merrier, I guess,” agreed Mary Margaret.  “I don’t have her number, but I’ll speak to Regina, maybe she can persuade her.”

Belle finished her cocoa, setting down her mug with a wide smile.

“I suppose I’d better get home and get some sleep before my shift,” she said.  “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

* * *

She found that she couldn’t sleep, her mind in turmoil, but she took a long shower, after which she felt a little better.  The day was bright, if cold, and so she decided to go for a walk before her shift at the diner, tucking Gideon into his stroller.  Her first thought was to go out to the stables again, but upon reaching them she found them empty, Henry and Regina no doubt exercising the horses.  Frowning, she went on her way, hoping to see Emma, or David.  She had no clue how to get him sober and talking to Mary Margaret again, but perhaps that was a project for another day.  Rumple.  She had to find a way to wake Rumple.

The breeze tugged at her hair, trying to get through her coat, and she was glad that she had wrapped up well that morning.  She tried to think as she walked briskly around the outskirts of the town with no real destination in mind.  She had woken, and there were times that she thought he remembered things.  Flashes, perhaps.  She had gotten those herself, and dreams of her former life, when she was in the asylum, but had assumed it was a symptom of the madness they told her she was suffering from.  Perhaps she should ask him about his dreams.  He couldn’t be suspicious about that, surely?  Although, given the way they had parted that morning…  She chewed her lip, irritated with herself for letting her pain and frustration push him away.  Shaking her head, she turned the stroller onto the road that lay at the edge of town, and it was then that she saw him.

Belle couldn’t recall ever seeing the burnt house before this new curse, but given that it sat alone on an empty road at the edge of Storybrooke, she could easily have missed it.  She suspected not, though.  What was left of the house was blackened and warped, a mass of broken windows and twisted metal and scorched timbers reaching up to scratch at the winter sky.  Weeds had covered the garden, choking the crawl-space, growing up through the stones on the path and twining around what was left of the porch railings, as though the house was sinking back down into the earth.  There was a lonely bench across the street from it, and Gold was sitting in his overcoat with his hands clasped in front of him, elbows on knees.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the stroller towards him, and although his eyes remained fixed on the blackened wreckage of the house, she had a feeling that he knew she was there.  She sat down carefully beside him, watching the breeze ruffle his hair.

“Hey,” she said, and her throat seemed to close up, her words stolen.  She swallowed past the lump in her throat, guilt burning through her.

“I’m - I’m sorry,” she said.  “About what I said earlier, I mean.  I was tired, and angry at the situation everyone’s in.  It wasn’t your fault.   _None_ of this is your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” he remarked dryly.  “That would make a change.”

She chewed her lip, trying to think of a way to reassure him that didn’t end up with her saying something that sounded ridiculous.  After a while she gave up, and decided to let it go.  It was likely he didn’t believe her, in any case.  She looked over the blackened shell of the house, the interior gutted and hollow.  She tried to remember why the house was there, to pull on what her cursed memories could tell her of it, and realised that she didn’t know.

“I don’t know why the Mayor hasn’t had this place torn down,” she remarked.

Gold didn’t answer, and so she tried again.

“I mean, it’s been like this for years, it must be ready to collapse in on itself.”

“Everything turns to dust in its own time,” he said eventually.  “It’s the way of things.  Everything ends.”

His voice was heavy, a strange melancholy in his aura, and she chewed her lip uncertainly before speaking.

“You know, I’ve walked past it many times and wondered when it burned down,” she said.  “I’ve wondered who lived there.”

Gold was silent, a muscle twitching in his cheek, and finally he turned his head to look at her.

“I did,” he said quietly.  “This was my house.”

Belle eyed him curiously.

“Yours?” she asked.  “Haven’t you always lived where you do now?”

“Oh, I’ve lived there for twenty years or so,” he said.  “But previously I lived here.  With my son.  And his mother.”

Belle looked back at the house.  A false memory, then.  She wondered how much pain it caused him, and wished she could take it away with her kiss, as he had for her.

“Oh,” she said quietly.  “What - what happened?”

He didn’t answer for a long moment, inhaling deeply and letting the breath out with a sigh.

“I was out of town,” he said.  “There was a property deal I was making, and I had to go to Boston for a few days.  I worked long hours.  Work was - well, when Neal was born I told myself he’d never want for anything.  He would never struggle, like I had.  I told myself that the time I spent away from him when he was small, I could make up later.”  He shook his head.  “God, if I’d known, I’d never have left his side!  I would have taken _every moment_!”

His face had twisted in anguish, and Belle’s heart went out to him.  She wanted to touch him, to put a hand on his, to send him comfort, but he sucked in a breath and continued.

“I had left Neal with his mother,” he said.  “I knew she was neglectful, that she didn’t have much interest in him, but I never thought…”

His voice trailed off, and he looked away, towards the wreckage of the house.

“Apparently she couldn’t wait for me to return before she went out drinking,” he said bitterly.  “Leaving our five-year-old son alone in the house.  By the time the fire was noticed, it was too late.   _I_ was too late.”

Belle bit her lip, her own grief a sharp pain in her chest.  Grief at Neal’s loss in another curse, another life.

“I’m so sorry,” she said sincerely.  “I can imagine how that felt, to lose a child.”

“Can you?”  He glanced at her briefly.  “I hope you never have to experience it, Miss French.  I wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone.”

There was silence for a moment.  The russet curl of a dried maple leaf skittered in front of them, caught up in the morning breeze.

“I lost him,” he said, his voice heavy.  “I wasn’t there when I should have been, and I lost him.  It’s - it’s the greatest regret of my life.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said softly.   _It wasn’t.  You didn’t ask to be brought back.  We did that.  Neal and I.  And he paid for it with his life.  And you paid too.  We all paid._

He opened his mouth as though he was about to disagree with her, but closed it again, and they lapsed into silence once more.  Belle tried to think of something that would help him, that would take away the pain of his cursed memories.  But her own, true memories were painful enough, and she could offer him no comfort.

“He would be around your age, now, I suppose,” said Gold quietly, and glanced at her again.  Belle met his eyes, trying to pour as much of her love into her gaze as she could, and his mouth twisted.

“God, I’m a fool!” he whispered, almost to himself, and pushed up off the bench, striding away from her without a backward glance.

* * *

Gold walked quickly, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the house in which his life had changed forever in the worst possible way.  If he was honest with himself, he also wanted to get away from the insightful Miss French and her blue eyes filled with sympathy and - he almost wanted to say affection, but that was a ridiculous idea.  His mouth flattened as he reached a decision he had been turning over in his mind all that morning since she had snapped at him and left.  He was losing his mind over that woman, and it was time to take back some control.  He turned into the grounds of the town hall, and squared his jaw as though he was going into battle.

The Mayor was an attractive woman, with dark hair and eyes and a slender figure, but there was something about her that had always rubbed Gold the wrong way.  She seemed to continuously smile, as though she knew a joke no one else did, and one that involved her laughing at the entire town in secret.  She was smirking at him now, sitting back in her chair with her hands poised on the desk in front of her.

“Mr Gold,” she said smoothly.  “What a pleasant surprise.  And here I thought I wouldn’t see you until the town hall meeting on Thursday.”

“I have an appointment on Thursday,” he said carelessly.  “No doubt you’ll be more than capable of dealing with the outraged townsfolk by yourself, however.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing back a little.

“What are they complaining about this time?” she sighed.

“The Sunday closure of businesses, obviously,” he said.  “I did tell you it wouldn’t be popular.”

“And I told you that your opinion was taken into consideration,” she said sweetly.  “But I must be allowed to run the town as I see fit.  Of course, if you were to accept the job of Deputy Mayor that I offered you…”

“Still not interested,” he interrupted.  “I have more than enough to keep me busy, thank you.  I certainly don’t need a job you pulled out of your arse just so you can pretend to the rest of the town that you have me on a leash.”

She frowned, drumming her fingers on the desk.

“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” she said, and he chuckled briefly.

“Really?” he said.  “And here I thought that tiresome displays of your power were what kept you going through the long days of solitude.  Admit it, you like thinking up ways to punish the inhabitants of this town for not simply kissing the ground you walk on.”

“How I run this town is my business,” she said, her voice suddenly cold.

“It is until it impacts on _my_ business,” he said, stepping closer to the desk.  “This new ordinance is taking money away from my tenants.  If I have to evict a bunch of them it’s going to create a lot of tedious paperwork.”

“So let them stay,” she said, sounding bored.  “Why do you care, you have enough money?”

“Because I always honour my agreements,” he said softly.  “No ifs, no buts, no exceptions.  Therefore I expect those I do business with to honour theirs.”

“Well, you can’t have it both ways,” she said dryly.  “Either you hold them to the rent they owe when they can’t afford it, or you let it slide and be everyone’s hero!  The Saviour of Storybrooke!”

She clasped her hands to her chest, batting her eyes and grinning, and his mouth flattened.  Something tickled the back of his mind, but it was too fragmented for him to give it form.

“If you allowed them to work on Sundays, I wouldn’t be having this dilemma,” he said.

“And I thought everyone would be pleased,” she said lightly, pushing back her chair and standing up.  “Letting families spend more time together?  Surely that’s a worthwhile cause?”

“There _are_ no families together in this town, or haven’t you noticed?” he said, his tone impatient.  “There’s not a single child that has both its parents.  All you’re doing is creating misery and poverty and reminding people of what they don’t have.  No wonder they say you’re heartless.”

“When I’ve _personally_ fostered any child in this town whose parents didn’t want them?” she protested, pressing a hand to her chest with an affronted expression.  “Henry was only the first, you know.  I’ve been a surrogate mother to many youngsters over the years.  I may be taking little Robyn in, you know, at her mother’s request!”

“I’m sure they’re all eternally grateful,” he said dryly.  “It won’t stop the protests from the townsfolk, however.  You might want to reconsider your decision.”

“Hmm.”

She stepped towards him, her fingers flickering, as though she was casting a spell, drawing water from the air around her for a dark potion to quell all opposition.  He felt his jaw tighten, that irritating tickle coming again, and the Mayor smiled.

“Well, I thank you for your concern, Mr Gold,” she said, “but you spurned my offer to take on the deputy position, and my decision on Sunday trading is final.  So if there isn’t anything else…”

“Actually there is something,” he said, and raised his chin a little.  “I want to reopen the library.”

Whatever she had thought he was going to say, he suspected that wasn’t it.  She blinked at him, momentarily confused, and then her eyes narrowed.

“The library?” she said suspiciously.  “Why?”

Gold smirked.  “Well, because as you noted, providing for families is an important part of our society,” he said.  “What could be more noble than offering children the gift of reading, and older people a place to pursue their varied interests?”

“And you’re feeling suddenly philanthropic, are you?” she said, in a disbelieving tone, and his smile widened.

“Maybe I’m tired of being the town monster,” he said.  “Or maybe I can simply see some personal tax advantages to the scheme.  I suppose you’ll never know.”

“You own that building,” she said, folding her arms.  “You don’t need my permission to reopen it.”

“No,” he confirmed.  “But the librarian’s position is a town hall appointment, and their salary would come from town funds.  I need your agreement to that.”

Her nostrils flared, and he wondered what it was that he had said that was so offensive to her.  For the life of him he couldn’t think of anything.

“And did you have anyone in mind for this - librarian?” she asked, almost through her teeth.

“Not yet,” he lied.  “I suppose I’ll advertise.  There must be someone in town who wants the job.  Will you agree to the creation of the post, at least?”

She was silent for a moment, but then lifted her chin, the smile back on her face.

“It makes no difference to me,” she said, with an offhand gesture.  “Hire whomever you wish, just leave me out of it.  I have more important things to do than worry over books.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do.”  He showed his teeth.  “Good day, Madam Mayor.”

* * *

Tuesday dawned bright and cold, and Belle rose early to collect Neal from Mary Margaret.  Neither of the women had a double stroller, and so she had Gideon in a papoose, nestled against her chest, and Neal in his own stroller.  She assured Mary Margaret that she would take Neal to Ashley’s daycare the next morning, and told her to enjoy her evening out.

“Did you see Emma?” she asked, and Mary Margaret shook her head as she buttoned her coat.

“I haven’t even seen Regina,” she admitted.  “It could just be me and Kathryn at this rate.  If you meet either of them today, tell them we’ll be at Granny’s around seven.”

Belle nodded, and Mary Margaret wound a scarf around her neck, bending to kiss Neal’s forehead.

“I’d best get to class,” she sighed.  “Good luck!”

Belle made her way out to the stables, hoping that it was early enough that Regina and Henry would be there.  Sure enough, they were feeding the horses, Regina scratching their shining necks as Henry brought buckets of carrots and apples to add to the scoop of oats each horse was given.

“Hey Belle!” called Henry.  “I thought of some new characters!”

“Let’s hear them,” said Belle, grinning, and Regina looked curious.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Oh, a game Henry and I were playing,” said Belle.  “We were trying to imagine everyone in Storybrooke as fairy tale characters.”

“You’re a Queen,” added Henry, nudging Regina.  “I just haven’t decided which one yet.”

Regina sniffed.  "Damn right."

“Who else have you thought about?” asked Belle.

“So I think Marco’s actually Geppetto,” said Henry.  “He’s a carpenter, right?”

“He’s a handyman,” said Regina.

“Yeah, but he makes really cool things out of wood in his spare time,” said Henry.  “Plus he really loves kids, and doesn’t have any.”

“Who’s Pinocchio, then?” asked Belle, and Henry pulled a face.

“Don’t know yet,” he admitted, and emptied his bucket of carrots and apples into one of the feeding troughs.

“Anyone else?” asked Belle.

“I think Killian Jones is a pirate,” he said.  “I mean he’s always drinking rum, and he hangs out around the docks a lot, and he picks fights like an asshole.”

“Henry!” said Regina severely, and he rolled his eyes.

“Yes, _mom_!”

Belle couldn’t help grinning at them.

“So, which one?”

“I don’t know,” said Henry pensively.  “He doesn’t have a peg leg, or a parrot…”

“I really think you’re getting too literal here,” remarked Regina dryly.

“...and it’s like he keeps _trying_ to grow a beard, but can’t, so he can’t be Blackbeard…”

“You know he has a prosthetic hand,” Belle pointed out, and Henry grinned.

“Okay, so he’s Captain Hook, without the charm and the bad perm,” he said, and threw a couple of carrots to one of the horses.  Belle bit back a grin.

“Speaking of Killian Jones,” she said, turning to Regina.  “Did you talk to Emma?”

“Emma Jones is the Ugly Duckling,” Henry said decidedly.

“Henry, don’t be unkind!” said Regina, and he shook his head.

“No, I don’t mean she’s ugly!” he protested.  “I just mean - I guess I mean that she’s so unhappy she’s forgotten how cool she could be.  She’s really sweet, you know.  And her last name used to be Swan.  She told me.”

Regina was still frowning at him.

“Did you talk to her yet?” Belle prompted.

“Not yet,” she admitted.  “Haven’t seen her.  I did think about going to the Sheriff’s station after I finish here.  Doubt I’ll be able to persuade her, though.”

Her cheeks flushed a little when she spoke of Emma, and Belle pursed her lips.

“We’ll see about that,” she said.  “I’ll come too.  Meet you at four-thirty?”

“Operation Swan Queen is a go,” muttered Henry under his breath, and Regina’s blush deepened.

* * *

Pleased with the progress she was making with Regina and Henry, Belle made her way back into town.  It was her day off, but she stopped in at the diner anyway, this time to drink hot chocolate while she fed the two babies.  Granny bustled over to fuss over them, and fixed Belle with a beady eye.

“Can you work the early shift tomorrow?” she asked.  “We’re short handed.  Case of the flu going around.”

“Actually, that would be better for me,” admitted Belle, thinking she could drop the boys off at Ashley’s first thing.

Granny nodded, looking relieved.  A rush of cold air blew in from the door, and Belle watched as Gold stepped in, his eyes casting from left to right before fixing on her.  For a moment he was frozen, as though he was unsure whether to enter, but then his jaw worked a little and he closed the door behind himself, sitting down at a nearby table and opening up a copy of the _Storybrooke Mirror_.  Granny went to take his order, and Belle busied herself with wiping milk from Gideon’s chin.

He had ordered coffee, and when it came he seemed to take an age drinking it, seemingly engrossed in his paper.  He neither looked across at her nor spoke, and yet she could feel his presence, as though it were flowing across the room to wrap itself around her.  She watched him out of the corner of one eye, long fingers turning the pages of his paper, or threading through the handle of his coffee cup.  The flick of his tongue to catch a droplet of coffee on his lower lip.  Eventually he drained the cup, setting it down with a clink and pushing back his chair.  She watched him furtively as he drew on his overcoat, and he stood for a moment without moving, his head bowed, as though he was thinking hard about something.  He glanced across at her briefly, then took a step towards her table.

“Miss French, if you could stop by the shop for five minutes when it’s convenient, I have something to discuss with you,” he said coolly, and waited for her nod before turning on his heel and striding from the diner.  Belle pursed her lips thoughtfully.   _What now?_

* * *

She finished feeding the boys, and then they both needed changing, so it was another half an hour or so before she could walk down the street to Gold’s shop.  The stroller made a rumbling noise on the wooden floor, and she hefted Gideon in her arms as she put on the brake.  The papoose was lying in the stroller, on top of the blankets draped over Neal, and Gideon was looking around the shop with bright brown eyes, his attention caught by a hundred shiny objects.

“Mr Gold?” she called.

There was the faint scrape of chair legs, and after a moment Gold walked through from the back room of the shop.  He was all in black today, from the toes of his shining leather shoes to the silk shirt beneath his suit, and although it suited him, it was a look which made her heart sink.  He nodded to her.

“Miss French.”

“You - you asked me to come,” she said nervously.

“I have something for you,” he said.  “If you’ll have it.”

She glanced at him curiously.  He was looking unsure of himself, not quite meeting her eyes.  He dug in his pocket, and held out a tiny box, hesitating a little before holding it out to her.  She inclined her head, nodding to Gideon.

“Would you mind?” she asked, and after a moment’s hesitation he took Gideon from her, cradling him in the crook of one arm as he held out the box.  Belle took it, pulling open the thin ribbon tied in a bow around it, and opened the lid.  Her breath caught at what lay within.  A silver key, simple and familiar, its round fob marked with one word that meant so much.   _Library._

“Where did you get this?” she whispered, and he shrugged, gently bouncing Gideon.

“Well, I own the building,” he said.  “I managed to persuade the Mayor that reopening would benefit the town.  She agreed.”

Belle took the key out of the box, turning it over and over in her hands.  She had thought it lost when she woke from her curse and saw the library boarded up.  But it had been there in his shop the entire time.  Waiting for her.

“Obviously we need a librarian,” he added.  “It doesn’t pay a fortune, but certainly more than you were making at the diner.”

She looked up sharply, and he was watching her, his expression calm.  But there was sadness there too, sadness and loss, and acceptance of that loss.   _Trying to let me go for my own good again.  Idiot man!_  The thought was fond, though, and she swallowed down what she had been about to say.

“Thank you,” she whispered.  “I’d be delighted.”

“Well, you haven’t seen the state of the place yet,” he remarked, turning away from her and walking back behind the counter.  “It’s been boarded up as long as I can remember.  Thick with dust, I expect.  And spiders.”

Gideon grasped at the glittering glass unicorn hanging from a mobile, and Gold calmly transferred him to the other arm so that the mobile was out of reach.  Belle couldn’t help smiling.

“I can handle spiders.”

“Good.”  He picked up a sheaf of papers from the counter, and held it up.  “Here’s a contract.  Read it over and decide if and when you want to start.  I’ll do the rest.”

She picked it up, hugging it to her chest, and he lowered his eyes.  Gideon became interested in the silk handkerchief tucked into his pocket, reaching for it with sticky fingers, and Belle smiled again.

“You’d better give him back before he ruins that suit,” she remarked, and Gold started, as though he’d forgotten something.

“Of course.”  He held Gideon out to her.  “He’s a curious lad, isn’t he?”

“Inquisitive, loving and far too clever for his own good, like his father,” she said dryly, tucking her son against her chest.  His mouth twitched, but then he dropped his eyes again.

“As I said,” he went on.  “The contract.  I suspect the soonest you could start would be next week, but by all means go and clean up the place before then if you want to.”

“Does - does the Mayor know it’ll be me?” she asked, and he glanced up.

“No,” he said.  “Will that matter?”

 _I hope not._  She shook her head, and he nodded, his fingers drumming slowly on the counter.  He seemed restless, as though he was working himself up to something, and she had a strong suspicion that he intended to tell her that their other arrangement could end, as she would be in a better place financially with this new job.   _God, you bloody irritating man!  You irritating, noble, beautiful man!_

“I should go,” she said hurriedly, before he could speak.  “I’ll read this over and get it back to you later, okay?”

Gold gulped a little, as though words had been forming in his mouth but he hadn’t known what to do with them, and he swallowed, nodding.

“Good day, Miss French,” he said formally, and she sighed to herself and trotted from the shop.  One step at a time.


	5. Heroism

As the time approached four-thirty that afternoon, Belle made her way towards the Sheriff’s station, where she could see Regina waiting with her arms folded, tapping her foot.

“Have you seen Emma?” asked Belle, parking the stroller, and Regina shook her head, curling her lip.

“No,” she said curtly.  “I know she’s only supposed to work until now, but occasionally the bastard makes her stay longer.  Probably just so he can be gross and disgusting.”

“Well, let’s go and rescue her, then,” suggested Belle.

Regina nodded firmly and squared her jaw, striding into the station and shoving open the door.  Belle struggled a little with the stroller, frowning at Regina’s back, but managed to get it up and over the threshold and into the building.  She had tucked Gideon in top to toe with Neal, which was a bit of a squeeze, but both boys were sleeping peacefully after their last feed and change.  She had to trot to catch up with Regina, but managed to reach her just as she shoved open the door to the sheriff’s office.  The telephone was ringing, its sound a little muted, and a computer was turned on and open at a document, but there was no sign of Emma, there was only...

“Ladies,” drawled Sheriff Nottingham, smirking at them as he leaned back in his chair, legs parting to put his crotch on view.  Belle shuddered as some of her fake memories - and some that were unfortunately _not_ fake, thanks to Lacey’s poor choices - popped into her mind.

“Here to see me?”  He winked at them.  “Looks like it’s my lucky day.”

“Thanks, but no,” said Regina firmly.  “We’re here to see your secretary.”

“Emma?”  He looked surprised.  “What the hell do you want with her?”

“Oh, it’s book club,” said Belle, smiling innocently.  “Her turn to choose.”

“Book club, eh?”  He grinned.  “I bet you girls read all sorts of dirty things, right?”

“Oh, for the love of…”  Regina rolled her eyes, neck craning for any sign of Emma.

“Well, we’re working our way through the classics,” said Belle.  “Shakespeare, Austen…  Nothing that would interest you, I’m sure.”

“Room full of Storybrooke’s loveliest, I just might be tempted.”

“Don’t you have parking tickets to write?” snapped Regina, and he scowled at her, pushing to his feet, and flicking his hair back off his forehead.

“Maybe I should write _you_ one, huh?”

“Go ahead,” she said, folding her arms.  “I don’t have a car, but slap it on a horse’s ass.  You should be able to recognise it from looking in the mirror.”

“I don’t think this is helping,” muttered Belle, trying not to giggle.

Nottingham scowled at both of them.

“I don’t have time for this,” he muttered, and slouched off, growling under his breath.

There was a scuffling sound from the corridor, and they turned just as Emma ducked into the room, looking somewhat flustered.  Belle’s mouth twisted at her appearance, wide-eyed and almost fearful, her face paler than ever, with dark circles beneath her eyes, as though she barely slept.  She was wearing a knee-length dress buttoned up to the neck, black with a pattern of large flowers, that drained her colouring and left her looking more washed-out than ever.  The sleeves were long, gathered at the wrists, and the whole outfit seemed a little too big, swamping her slim figure.

“Hey,” said Regina.  “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m - oh, you know,” she said, shrugging listlessly, and set a pile of files down on the desk.  “What are you guys doing here?”

“We’re here to rescue you,” said Belle promptly.  “Well, technically Regina’s gonna be your Prince Charming, I have babysitting duties.”

“Oh.”  Emma glanced between the two of them.  “I - I don’t know…  I have these files to go through.”

“Tomorrow,” said Regina firmly.  “He doesn’t pay you overtime.  Come to Granny’s for a drink.”

For a moment there was a tiny spark in Emma’s eyes, almost like hope.  But then her smiled flickered and died, and she shook her head.

“I - I can’t,” she said.  “Killian likes me to get dinner ready for when he comes home.”

“So get a takeout,” suggested Belle.  “Granny can pack you up a lasagne to take home, you know.  Just heat it through in the oven.”

“Besides, you know he won’t be home until after the bar closes, right?” said Regina knowingly, and Emma looked uncomfortable.

“He’s not out _every_ night,” she muttered.

 _Oh yes he bloody is!_  Belle decided to let that one slide, and gave Emma an encouraging smile.

“You deserve a night out too,” she said.  “It’s just Regina, Mary Margaret and Kathryn.  A couple of drinks after work, that’s all.”

Emma opened and closed her mouth for a moment, straightening the pile of files with her fingers.

“I don’t know…” she said, but it sounded as though she was wavering.  “I’m not really dressed for going out.”

“You look fine!” Belle assured her, and glared at Regina when she snorted.  Regina shot her an apologetic look.

“I can lend you something, if you don’t feel comfortable going to a bar in your work clothes,” she said smoothly.  “But it’s only Granny’s.  No one to impress but Leroy and his pals.”

Emma almost smiled at that.

“Plus,” added Regina.  “We can do a makeover, if you like.  I’ll curl your hair.  You can surprise your - husband - by collecting him from the Rabbit Hole looking like a princess!”

She flashed Emma a wide, red-lipped smile, that looked to Belle more like a grimace, but to her surprise Emma smiled back, her face momentarily lighting up.

“Well, I guess a couple of drinks wouldn’t hurt,” she said.  “Let me just close this thing down.”

She started tapping computer keys, and Belle shared a satisfied look with Regina before making her way back outside.  If nothing else, it would let Emma see that there was more to life than work and cooking for her man.

* * *

Several hours later, Kathryn drained her margarita, banging her glass on the table.

“My round,” she announced.  “Same again?”

“I - I should probably get going…” said Emma awkwardly.

Regina had lent her a pair of black skinny jeans, and a shirt in teal satin which she couldn’t remember buying, but which suited Emma’s colouring.  She had curled Emma’s blonde hair, and it bounced around her shoulders in golden waves, freed from its usual severe ponytail.  The look suited her, and the wine she was drinking had put some colour in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes.  Regina couldn’t stop staring at her, and Mary Margaret kept shooting her thoughtful looks and then glancing away whenever Regina met her eyes.

“Stay for another,” she suggested, putting a hand on Emma’s.  “It’s not even ten.  You know David and Killian won’t leave that place until eleven.”

“That’s true,” sighed Emma, and drained her glass, her mouth twisting a little.  She nodded at Kathryn.  “I’ll have what Regina’s having.”

“Two margaritas, two whiskies.”  Kathryn pushed back her chair.  “Coming right up.”

“This should probably be my last,” said Mary Margaret regretfully.  “I have class tomorrow.  Belle’s dropping Neal off at Ashley’s, but it’s still gonna be an early start.”

“I don’t know how you guys do it,” remarked Regina, turning her glass around on the table top.  “Raising your kids alone.  It must be so hard.”

“Well, that’s why we need to look out for one another,” said Mary Margaret, flicking back her dark hair.  “Besides, it’s all worth it.  I wouldn’t change the decision I made for the _world_.”

Regina snorted.  “Yeah, you did the right thing in dropping David when he wouldn’t step up.  I never did understand what you saw in him.”

Mary Margaret’s mouth flattened, and she shrugged.

“He wasn’t always like that,” she said.  “Or - or maybe he _was_ , but he was just better at hiding it.  He was handsome and charming and he’d pull out my chair and get my coat…  I don’t know.”  She looked down, shaking her head.  “I guess some guys lose interest once they get what they want.”

Emma was looking at the table, at her fingers laced together, her brow a little creased, and Regina pursed her lips thoughtfully.

“Who’s Gideon’s father?” she asked.  “Belle never told me.”

“I don’t think she told _anyone_ ,” said Mary Margaret.  “But given that I don’t remember her _dating_ anyone, I’m guessing it was a one-nighter.”

“With whatever silver-tongued loser she lowered her standards for,” added Regina.  “Well, I think we’re all guilty of _that_ at some point, right?”

“He must have brown eyes, whoever it was,” said Emma.  “So at least you know it wasn’t David.”

“That’s true,” said Mary Margaret, giggling.  “Clearly it’s only me who made _that_ mistake!”

“Do you wish it had worked?” asked Emma, and Mary Margaret wrinkled her nose.

“I used to,” she admitted.  “When Neal was born, I thought - I thought maybe I couldn’t handle it alone.  I thought I was going to have to go to the Mayor and ask her to take him in, like she has with some of the other kids in town.  I think I spent most of the first three months crying because I was just so _tired._   But I loved him so, so much, from the moment I knew I was carrying him.  It was just - it seemed _bizarre_ to me that David wouldn’t feel the same way.”

She took a drink, and put her head to the side, looking at Emma curiously.

“What about you?” she asked.  “You planning on having any?”

“I don’t think so.”  Emma shook her head.  “Killian’s not really into kids.  Says it would ruin my figure.  Besides, I couldn’t afford to take the time off work.”

“You know _he_ could always get a job,” said Regina pointedly, and she pulled a face.

“Not really.  I mean, it's not his fault.  He only has one hand, and…”

“Doesn’t seem to stop him playing pool and downing shots,” said Regina, raising a brow, and Emma looked uncomfortable.

“It’s not just his hand,” she said.  “He’s tried to work in the past, but he can’t find anything in this town that suits his skill set.”

“Which is what?” asked Regina, and Emma opened and closed her mouth a couple of times.

“Okay, ladies, here we go.”  Kathryn set down two margaritas and two glasses of whisky, handing the empties to Granny as she passed.  “What did I miss?”

“The men of Storybrooke are useless dicks who avoid responsibility like it’s an infectious disease,” said Regina, and Kathryn shrugged.

“Oh, so I didn’t miss anything I didn’t already know then,” she said, and the others chuckled.

“You really have to wonder why we pay them any attention at all,” said Mary Margaret thoughtfully.

“Bastards,” said Regina, with feeling.

“Well, screw ‘em,” said Kathryn, raising her glass.  “To girls’ night.  May there be many more!”

“Girls’ night!” they echoed, and clinked glasses.

* * *

Mary Margaret and Kathryn left after half an hour or so, and Regina had expected Emma to go with them.  Instead she was still sitting across from her, one pale finger drawing patterns in the circles of moisture left by the margarita glasses.  Her whisky was almost gone, a line of pale amber at the bottom of her glass.

“You want another?” asked Regina, and Emma shook her head.

“I’m already feeling like I’m well on the way to being drunk,” she admitted.  “Wednesday’s a bitch.  I have to go straight from the Sheriff’s station to the Mayor’s place.  A full day’s work, then cleaning, all with a hangover?  No thanks.”

“Water it is then,” said Regina, and Emma shot her a grin.  She was looking adorably flushed, her eyes bright with the alcohol, and it was more life than Regina had seen in her in months.

“Leave me with this buzz for a while longer, okay?” she asked.  “Although you may have to carry me home.”

Regina sniffed.  “I’ll hold you up while we walk, Miss Swan, but that’s it.”

Emma’s grin widened, but then drained from her face like water, and she looked up, one blonde curl shining against her cheek.

“Why did you call me that?” she whispered, and Regina blinked.

“That was your name, wasn’t it?” she said.  “Henry told me.”

“Yeah.”  Emma picked up her glass, her mouth twisting a little.

“It’s pretty,” said Regina.  “I think it suits you.”

“Maybe it used to,” sighed Emma.  “I’m Emma Jones now.”

“Emma Jones doesn’t stay up late drinking whisky with the girls,” said Regina firmly.  “You can be Emma Swan whenever you like.”

“Maybe.”  She looked unconvinced.  “Maybe I’ll save it for special occasions.”

“Then here’s to making every day special,” said Regina, and raised her glass.  Emma clinked her own against it, tossing back the whisky.

“Thanks,” she said, setting down the empty glass.  “But it’s hard to feel special when you’re cleaning the Mayor’s toilets.”

“Hey, I spend all my time shovelling horseshit,” offered Regina.  “At least you still smell nice at the end of the day.”

Emma giggled.

“You smell pretty nice to me,” she said, glancing up and smiling, and Regina felt her heart thump painfully.  Emma looked suddenly uncertain, and pushed back her chair.

“I should go,” she said.  “The _Rabbit Hole_ will be throwing everyone out soon, I guess.  I should go and drag Killian home.”

“I’ll walk with you,” suggested Regina, and Emma gave her a grateful look.

“Thanks,” she said.  “For everything.  For getting me out of the house, for the shirt, the hair…  I really had fun tonight.”

“So did I.”  Regina stood, pulling on her coat.  “We should make a regular thing of it.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

They made their way slowly to the _Rabbit Hole_ , the cold night air seeming to make them a little drunker, and Regina stumbled a little, Emma putting an arm around her to steady her.

“You’re supposed to be holding _me_ up,” she reminded her, and Regina sniffed.

“This whole evening’s been a team effort,” she said.  “If you need help prying your husband out of the bar just ask.”

“He tends to leave around eleven anyway,” said Emma listlessly, and Regina glanced at her.

“So - you just sit around waiting for him?” she said.  “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“At first,” admitted Emma.  “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the first few months were great.  He was really attentive, wouldn’t leave my side, even kept turning up at work to see me until Nottingham told him to get lost.  But then… I don’t know.”  She shrugged.  “I guess things can’t stay that way forever, right?”

“Mary Margaret always says that if true love were easy, we’d all have it,” said Regina wryly.  “And that’s coming from Little Miss So Damn Positive You Want To Kill Yourself.”

Emma chuckled, and nodded at the gleaming red sign ahead of them.

“Well, I guess this is me,” she said, and let her arm drop from around Regina’s waist.  “Thanks.  I mean it.”

“I’ll come in with you,” suggested Regina.  “Just in case you need a hand getting him out.”

The bar was warm, the air damp and heavy, and the scent of spilled beer and nachos assaulted their nostrils.  David Nolan almost barged into them, the beers in his hands sloshing in the glasses, and Regina scowled at his muttered apology.

“Here she is!”  Killian Jones’s voice cut across the bar from where he stood at the pool table, a cue in his hand.  “My lovely little wife, come to take me home.  That’s married life for you, boys.  No more staying out all night.”

“You seem to be doing okay,” remarked Regina, folding her arms, and he shot her a white-toothed grin.

“She knows I’m only joking, don’t you love?” he said, rounding the pool table to put his hands on Emma’s upper arms and look her over.  “Did you do something?  You look different.”

“Regina curled my hair,” said Emma.

“Very lovely,” he purred, running a hand through the curls.  Emma giggled, and he bent to kiss her, his tongue visible as he opened her mouth.

Feeling nauseated, Regina rolled her eyes and looked at David, who had set down one of the beers and was drinking the other.

“We had a girls’ night, with Kathryn and Mary Margaret,” she said, and David blinked.

“Mary Margaret was out?” he said.  “Really?  Why?”

Regina put her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

“It’s the first night out she’s had in _months_!” she snapped.  “What has it got to do with you anyway?”

“I - I just thought…” he began, looking awkward.  “Shouldn’t she be at home with the baby?”

“Oh, _now_ you care about your son?” Her tone was disbelieving.  “You haven’t even acknowledged that you _have_ one up until now!”

David scowled, setting down his beer.

“My relationship with Mary Margaret is none of your business,” he said coldly.  “It’s not as though she wants me around anyway.”

“Because you abandoned her when she was pregnant, you moron!”

“I - look, it wasn’t _like_ that…”

“Oh, don’t give me that crap!”  Regina scowled.

“Hey!”  Killian had finally pulled himself off Emma and was glaring at her.  “He came out to drink and play pool, not get lectured by a bloody stable-hand!”

Regina drew herself up to her full height, furious, and Emma put a quelling hand on Killian’s arm.

“Look, let’s go home,” she said.  “I’m not feeling so good.”

“You go on then,” he said.  “I haven’t finished my game.  Take the Mayor’s shit-shoveller with you.”

Regina wondered if punching him in the face would be worth getting arrested by Nottingham, and realised she’d be swapping one drunken misogynist for another.  She settled for a cold stare instead, and Emma shot her an apologetic look.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Regina,” she said.  “Thanks again, I mean it.”

Regina nodded, and glared at the two men before stalking out of the club, her entire body humming with anger and resentment and frustration.  Emma Jones deserved so much more.  Emma Jones needed to find Emma Swan again.

* * *

Belle was oddly nervous when she awoke on Wednesday morning.  The boys had started crying at around four-thirty, and after feeding and changing them, she couldn’t go back to sleep, so she made some tea and read a story aloud to Neal and Gideon until their eyes slid closed.  After that she sat at the kitchen table, scribbling in her notebook.  Rumple had given her the library once more, and her heart swelled at the thought of it.  She intended to clean it up as soon as she could; getting the place open again would be like peeling off another layer of the curse.  Frowning to herself, she wondered if the Black Fairy was aware of her appointment.

She washed the few dishes from her breakfast and dressed quickly, wrapping both of the boys up and pushing the stroller around to Ashley’s to drop them off at daycare before her shift.  The diner was busy, but Granny took it well when she said she had found another job, and would be starting the following week.

“All the girls could use extra hours,” she said.  “You won’t be leaving me short-handed, providing this flu doesn’t spread too much.”

Belle was relieved, and gratified when Granny gave her a quick hug and a muttered ‘congratulations’.  The shift was busy, and she was tired by the end of it, but she ran home to shower and change and was back out the door by the time the clock turned three.  She intended to go to Gold’s shop at around four, but first of all she wanted to have a peek at the library.  Hurrying up to the door, she fished the key from her pocket and bounced on her toes, grinning like an idiot.   _My library.  And he gave it back to me.  That_ has _to mean something._

“Hey, Belle!”  Henry’s voice made her start, and she looked around to see him trotting over.

“Hey!” she said, and put her head to the side.  “Want to come and take a look at the library?”

“You have the key?”  He looked interested.  “I’ve never seen it open, where did you get that?”

Belle smirked, putting the key in the lock and turning it.

“You are looking,” she said over her shoulder.  “At Storybrooke’s new librarian.”

She pushed open the door, the metal hinges squeaking a little, and went inside.

“Really?”  Henry followed her in.  “Since when?”

“Since - well, since now, I guess,” said Belle, flicking on the light switches.  “I don’t start until next week - that’s if Mr Gold hasn’t changed his mind between yesterday and me getting the signed contract to him today, of course.”

“Mr _Gold_ hired you?” said Henry, surprised.  “Since when does he care about the library?”

“I didn’t ask him,” she said, and chewed her lip as she scanned the room.  Lots of dust.  The place looked as though it had been closed for years.  Nothing that a bit of elbow grease wouldn’t fix, though.  At least the books seemed to be on their shelves as she had left them, so that was one less thing that would need sorting.  

Henry had wandered over to one of the stacks at the very back, and was looking over the titles there.  Belle walked slowly around, taking in the familiar, albeit more dusty, scent of books.

“Hey, there’s some great stuff here!” called Henry.  “Belle, can I get a library card?”

“Sure, just as soon as I clean the place up,” she said, walking over.

Henry had tucked himself into the farthest corner of the room, what Belle had previously liked to call (for her own amusement) the Restricted Section.  It contained the library’s small collection of erotica, set on a high shelf out of the way of children, and on lower shelves there were books on mysticism, witchcraft and magical histories.  There were others on herbalism, ancient sites and pagan rituals, and Belle had read every book from cover to cover in the name of research.  Including the erotica, for more - personal - research.  She blushed at the memories.

Henry was flicking through a book on dragons when Belle spotted something out of place.  Something that had definitely not been there when she was last in the library.  The spine of a leather-bound book, thick and heavy.  Heart thumping, she eyed Henry, watching him.  He slid the dragon book back into its place on the shelf, his fingers tapping restlessly on the spine, and she grinned to herself as his eyes dropped to the leather-bound book.  The book had found the Author, just when it was needed, and he had felt its pull, as she had hoped he would.

“What’s this?” he asked curiously, and slid the storybook from its shelf, holding it in both hands.

 _“Once Upon a Time,”_ he read aloud, and there was a pulse of energy.  Henry’s eyes flew wide open, his fingers tightening on the book, and he looked at her in bewilderment.

“Belle!” he gasped.  “What - what happened?”

She put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, and he took heavy breaths, his eyes blinking rapidly.  Belle pulled a face as he looked up at her, stricken.

“I remember,” he said faintly.  “We - God, my moms!  Regina’s at the stables, and she doesn’t know I’m her son!  And - and…”

“It’ll be okay,” said Belle soothingly.  “We can fix it, I promise.  It was a curse.”

He swallowed hard, nodding, and she rubbed his shoulder.

“The Black Fairy?” he whispered.  Belle nodded, and Henry shook his head.

“”Who - who else is awake?” he asked, and Belle sighed.

“Just me, I think,” she said.  “And now you.  Oh, Henry, I’m so glad we found the book!”

“Me too.”  He looked down at it, then back up again.  “But - my moms!  Grandma and Grandpa!”

“We’ll save them,” said Belle.  “I promise.”

Henry nodded, squaring his jaw, his usual faith brimming over, and she smiled at his confidence.

“Well, in that case we need to find what breaks the curse,” he said.  “For me it was the book.  Maybe it’ll work for them, too.”

“I think the book might be a one-off,” said Belle.  “It’s a powerful magical object in its own right, and you’re the Author.  Makes sense.  But let Regina look, anyway.  You never know.”

“Sure thing.”  He eyed her curiously. “What broke your curse?”

“Rumple kissed me,” she confessed, and his eyes brightened.

“Really?  So he’s awake too?”

“No,” sighed Belle.  “Just me.”

“But - but he broke your curse,” insisted Henry.  “True Love’s Kiss!  He _has_ to remember!”

“You’d think,” said Belle dryly.  “I made a fool of myself babbling about us being married.  He thought I’d lost my mind.  He’s still under the curse.”

“But he must love you!” Henry persisted.  “Why else would he kiss you?”

Belle opened and closed her mouth for a moment, unsure how to explain their situation.

“I…” she said weakly.  “I mean, we…”

“Tell me _exactly_ how it happened,” said Henry eagerly, and Belle sighed.

“Look, Henry, it wasn’t - it’s not important.”

“Of course it is!  _Your_ curse broke but not _his_!  It could be _crucial_!”

“No, I don’t think…”  Belle cut off, but he was staring at her with wide, bright eyes full of hope, and she reminded herself that he was no longer a child, but a teenager.  Surely Emma and Regina had given him the talk.  Or David, perhaps.  This wouldn’t be in the least bit awkward...

“How did you end up kissing each other?” he asked, bouncing excitedly on his toes.

“I offered to sleep with him because I didn’t have the rent!” snapped Belle, and Henry’s face dropped as he sank back on his heels.

“Grandma _Belle_!”

Belle threw up her hands.  “Oh my _God_ , Henry, you just made it sound ten times _worse_!”

“Sorry!  I meant - I meant just Belle!  So you - you...”

She sighed, her cheeks reddening.   _God,_ this was awkward.

“Yes,” she said wearily.

“And - and he _agreed_ to that - no, no, don’t tell me!”  He winced, throwing up his hands, the book reflecting the light for a moment.  “Look, I don’t want to hear anything graphic, okay, but there might be something.  Just tell me - without too many details - tell me what happened when the curse broke.”

Belle sighed again, and licked her lips.  Henry was eyeing her somewhat nervously.

“We were in…”  She was going to say ‘bed’, but that was probably one of the details Henry didn’t need.  “...in a - a _situation_ \- that both of us wanted to be in, and at the _climax…_ ”

“Oh my God…”

“...the end!” she amended hastily.  “At the _end_ of that - situation - he kissed me, and…”

She opened her fist, fingers flicking outwards, and Henry nodded.

“But it only worked for you,” he said thoughtfully.  “Why?”

“I don’t know.”  Belle turned away, chewing her lip.  “I - I’ve been trying to work that one out.”

“Okay.”  Henry took a deep breath, hefting the book in both hands.  “Well, don’t worry.  I’ll start reading.  There _has_ to be an answer in here somewhere.”

Belle smiled at him, and opened her mouth to agree, but the squeak of hinges from the library door made her pause.  Something caught her tongue, made her want to be silent, and she put a finger to her lips, her heart thumping.  Henry nodded quickly, and Belle pointed at the floor, an unspoken command.   _Stay here._  He nodded again.  She stepped out from behind the stacks, and sucked in a breath as she saw the Mayor - the Black Fairy - standing with her hands clasped at her waist, looking around the library with an air of interest.  She was dressed in a slim-fitting trouser suit, similar to the ones Regina had worn as Mayor, with a red silk blouse beneath.

“I’m afraid the library won’t be open until next week,” said Belle, stepping forward, and the Black Fairy looked her up and down.

“Well, aren’t you lovely?” she asked, smiling, and Belle frowned a little.

“May I help you, Madam Mayor?”

“Oh, I just thought I’d come and see how my latest employee was getting along,” she said airily, looking over the bookshelves.  She ran a finger along one of them, wrinkling her nose at the dust, and gave Belle a shrewd look.

“So, you were the only one that applied for the librarian’s job, I take it?” she said.  “That’s fast work, I only agreed to the post yesterday.  Didn’t even see an advertisement.”

“I - don’t know,” said Belle, discomfort rising within her.  The Black Fairy looked a little too knowing for her liking.  “I suppose you’d have to ask Mr Gold.  He made the decision to hire me.”

“Yes.”  The Black Fairy looked her up and down again, lip curling a little around her smile.  “Are you qualified?  I thought you were a waitress.”

“Actually yes,” said Belle, confident in her cursed memories providing an alibi.  “I studied library science at college.  I only came back to Storybrooke to look after my father when he was sick.  The waitressing job was the only thing I could get.”

“To keep your son fed and clothed,” she said, her smile twisting a little.  “You know, if you were having difficulties, you could have just handed him over to me.  He wouldn’t be the first I’ve raised when their parents didn’t have the means or - inclination.”

Belle squared her jaw.

“You’ll take my son over my dead body!” she snapped, and the Black Fairy raised an eyebrow.

“It was only a suggestion, dearie,” she said sweetly.  “My, you have some fire in you, don’t you?  Brave and beautiful.”  She put her head to the side.  “Reckless too, perhaps.  Impulsive.  I can see why he likes you.”

Belle’s heart began to thud painfully in her chest.

“Who?” she asked, trying to sound puzzled, and Black sighed, rolling her eyes.

“But a _terrible_ liar,” she said, almost to herself.  “Mr Gold, of course.  Don’t tell me you don’t know who I am.  Who _he_ is.”

Belle tried for an expression of bewilderment.  It was true: she had never been a good liar, but she would have to try.

“He’s - he’s my landlord,” she said, in her most confused voice.  “When he heard of my qualifications he offered me the job, but if you’re suggesting that there’s anything - anything _sordid_ involved I can assure you he’s been a perfect gentleman.”

“Really?”  Her voice was dry, and Belle pulled a face.

“Well, when I say ‘perfect gentleman’ I mean he hasn’t propositioned me like some of the sleazes in this town,” she said.  “He’s still a bloody bastard who won’t cut anyone a break on their rent.”  She made her brow crinkle.  “What makes you think he likes me?  I don’t think he likes anyone.”

The Black Fairy watched her closely for a moment, her expression shrewd, but then she shook her head, the smile returning.

“Perhaps I was mistaken,” she said, waving a hand.  “I know how ridiculous men can get over a pretty face, that’s all.  I’m sure you’re right.”

“Was there anything else?” asked Belle, still nervous, and Black let out a tinkling little laugh.

“Oh, I feel almost _certain_ we’ll run into one another again,” she said pleasantly.  “But I’ll let you get on with cleaning this place up.  Enjoy your - dust.”

She swivelled on her toes, sauntering out with a sway of her hips, and Belle watched the door swing shut, only letting out her breath when it closed.

“Is she gone?”  Henry poked his head out from around the corner.

“I think so.”  Belle chewed her lip.  “I think she suspects, though.  We’re gonna have to be careful.”

“Maybe there’s something in the book,” he suggested.  “A story with the Black Fairy.”

He held up the book in both hands, and Belle nodded.

“Take it,” she said.  “I’m gonna keep trying with Rumple.  I’m sure he remembers more than he’s letting on.”

“And I’ll talk to my moms,” added Henry.  “Maybe I can get Emma to go out again.  Regina said they had a good time.”

He grinned at Belle, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye, and she squeezed his shoulder affectionately before he shoved the book into his school bag and hurried out.  At last, someone else was awake!

* * *

After Henry had left, she poked round in the stacks for another ten minutes or so, checking that all the books were pretty much as she had left them.  It seemed so.  Dusting herself off a little, and resolving to return the next day with cleaning equipment, she locked the door behind her and crossed the road to Gold’s shop.  The bell tinkled as she entered, but he was not behind the counter as she had expected.  Smiling to herself, she shut and locked the door behind her, flipping the sign to _Closed_.  Glancing  around to make certain she was alone, she quickly reached up under her skirt and tugged down her panties, stepping out of them and slipping them into her purse before striding purposefully towards the back room.

Gold was sitting before his spinning wheel on its stool, his hand on the wheel itself and an odd, far-off look in his eyes.

“Are you spinning?”

Belle’s voice made him start, and he glanced over at her, a brief smile flickering over his face before dying.  He was in his shirtsleeves, gold garters holding them up at his elbows, the shirt black silk.

“What?” he said.  “Oh, no no, I just - well, the thing’s been gathering dust for years, I thought I’d take a look at it.”

He pushed the wheel a little, watching it turn, and she eyed him hungrily, wanting to touch him, to card his hair with her fingers and kiss him hard.

“It seems to be in good working order,” she suggested, and he nodded.

“Indeed.”  He turned on the stool, looking up at her properly.  “What can I do for you, Miss French?”

Belle rummaged in her purse, pulling out a sheaf of papers, and held them out.

“The contract,” she said.  “I signed everything.”

“Ah.”  He took them from her carefully, not quite meeting her eyes.

“So, we’re good to go,” she added.  “I took a look over the place; it’s dusty, but that’s an easy fix.  Should have it cleaned up in no time.”

“Right.”  He hesitated, but looked over the contract, and nodded.  “Right.  Well then.  I suppose there’s nothing further...”

“Yes there is,” she said firmly.  “Two hours, remember?  I’m here to keep the appointment.”

“Ah,” he said again, and sat there for a moment.  “Miss French…”

 _“Belle,”_ she said.  “When we’re doing this, you call me Belle, understand?”

“Belle,” he said, his voice softening a little, as it did whenever he said her name.  “You have a better job now…”

“Which doesn’t start until next week.”

“...and you shouldn’t be in any financial difficulties going forward,” he added.

“I won’t get paid until the end of next month,” she said.  “That won’t help me pay the rent when it’s due, will it?”

Gold sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, and she waited for him to try to talk her out of it again. Bloody annoying man!

“I offered you this job for a reason,” he said quietly.  “And it wasn’t just that I think you’ll do it very well.”

“I will,” she assured him.  “I’m already thinking of plans to get more business!  I could run children’s story hours, and a book club, and maybe even team up with the school to do joint learning sessions!”

“As I said,” he continued.  “I think you’ll do very well as librarian, but that wasn’t my only reason for giving you the job.”  He hesitated, then gestured between them.  “I - I don’t want you to think you have to do anything - well - anything you didn’t want to.”

Belle wanted to sigh in frustration.  Why was he making this so hard?

“I’m not,” she said gently.  “I didn’t come today because I didn’t have a choice.  I’m here because I want to be.  I promise.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, and she stepped forward, shrugging off her coat.  She was wearing a sheer blouse beneath, a delicate pattern of flowers on the chiffon, her black bra showing through clearly, and his breath caught in his throat.  Belle threw her coat across the bench and turned to him.

“Do you want me?” she asked, her voice soft, and he swallowed hard.

“Yes,” he whispered.  “Yes, I want you, God help me!”

“Good.”

She stepped closer, and he gazed up at her from his place on the stool, his breathing growing harder.  Belle straddled him, the skirt draping over his knees on either side of her, and Gold sucked in a breath, his hands sliding up her thighs as she stroked her fingers through his hair.  She bent her head to kiss his neck, enjoying the heat of his skin against her lips, the scent of him filling her head.

“We should close the shop,” he said quietly, as her tongue flickered out to catch a taste of him.  “If someone - ah! - someone comes in, it could be awkward.”

“Already did it.”  She sucked gently on his throat, making him groan.  “We’re safe.”  She kissed up to his ear, her nose nudging the lobe.  “You can touch me.”

He shivered at her words, and his hands moved up over her hips to cup her breasts as she raised her head to kiss him.  He inhaled deeply, his tongue pushing between her lips, and Belle let out a tiny moan as his hands squeezed her.  She stroked her tongue against his, her belly pulling and tightening as the kiss grew messy, and his fingers began plucking at the tiny buttons of her blouse, pulling open each one all the way down to her navel.  He got the blouse open, sliding his hands inside over her skin, and she deepened the kiss, her fingers twining in his hair, tugging at it and pulling his head close against hers.

Gold pulled his mouth free to kiss down her neck, Belle’s head rolling back as his lips trailed over her skin.  His tongue swirled against her, and she let out a tiny moan of pleasure, reminding him vividly of how she had sounded when he licked her to climax and tasted her salt on his tongue.  He pulled down one of the soft cups of her black bra, freeing the perfect white mound of her breast, and bent his head to take the nipple in his mouth, sucking it in between his lips as it hardened and puckered.  Belle moaned again, her fingers scraping his scalp, and he suckled at her, feeling himself grow hard, wanting her, needing to touch her, to push deep inside her.

His arm wrapped around her waist, tugging her a little closer as his tongue stroked her nipple, and Belle undulated against him, moaning again.  He let the nipple fall from his lips, red and glistening, and he gazed up at her, his breathing hard and heavy.  She bent to kiss him hungrily, her fingers plucking at his tie, tugging it open and opening up the shirt.  Warm fingers slid inside, running over his skin and making him shiver, and Belle broke the kiss, catching her breath as she pressed her forehead to his.

“I miss you,” she whispered, and kissed him again.

It had been only three days since they had last had sex, and yesterday that he had given her the library key, so he wasn’t sure how she could miss him in that short time.  And yet he had certainly missed her.  She was barely out of his thoughts, and it was as though the world was brighter when she was near him.  As though she brought light in her wake, wrapping around him and warming his soul, chasing away the darkness that he usually wore around himself like a shroud of despair.  He feared the crushing weight of it returning when he let her go, but he would.  He must.

Her fingers brushed over his nipples, making him groan into her mouth, and Belle pulled back a little, her eyes gleaming.  She lifted a hand, stroking her palm over his cheek, her thumb gently rubbing over his lower lip, and he pressed a kiss to it, his chest heaving.  There was a look in her eyes, a strange mix of affection and sorrow, and it almost made him want to cry.  She had loved her son’s father, he remembered.  From what she had said, she was _still_ in love with him.  It must kill her to be doing this, to put herself in the hands of another, just to feel pleasure, to be touched.  And yet she could still look at him in that way, with compassion and tenderness.  She was too good.  Far too good.

“Touch me,” she whispered.

He let a hand drop to her thigh, sliding up beneath her skirt until he could feel between her legs.  She wasn’t wearing any underwear, and he gave her a startled look for a moment, which seemed to amuse her.  Her flesh was hot, and very wet, her fluids coating his fingers when he stroked her, and Belle moaned and arched her back as his thumb found her clit.

“Yes!” she whispered, and he began to rub her in slow circles, one finger pushing inside her and sinking into her soft velvet heat.  He groaned at the feel of her, and she pushed herself against his hand, rocking herself against him as his thumb swirled.

“God, you feel good!” he breathed, and she moaned in response, her lips catching his, her tongue pushing into his mouth.  Her fingers started tugging at his belt, pulling open the leather, the metal buckle clinking, and he pulled his mouth from hers as she unzipped his fly.

“Condom?” he asked raggedly, and Belle grumbled something.

He kept his finger inside her, still stroking her, sticky juices running over his hand, and she leaned to the side to grab her purse, opening it up and taking out a condom.  She locked her gaze with his as she opened it up, and he noticed how wide and dark her eyes had grown.  Her cheeks were flushed, her lips full and red from the pressure of his mouth, shining mahogany curls bouncing around her shoulders, and he felt his breath catch.  Her beauty was astounding.

“Let me put it on,” she whispered, and he slowly drew his finger out of her, his hand wet with her arousal.

Belle opened up his pants, reaching inside his underwear to free his cock.  It was hot and heavy in her palm, and she stroked him, making his teeth clench.  Rolling on the condom, she shifted closer, until she was pressed up against his chest, her legs either side of his hips, and then lifted herself up on her toes, lining them up so that she could slide down onto him.  Gold let his head fall back, a loud groan of pleasure coming from him, and she shifted her hips a little so that he was rubbing against her, a low gasp bursting from her mouth.

It felt good to have him there again, and she pushed her fingers through his hair, bending to kiss him as she began to rock back and forth, his arm tight around her waist.  Her blouse hung open, and his other hand squeezed her breast, pinching the nipple between thumb and forefinger and making her cry out.  She cupped his face with her hands, her tongue flickering along the seam of his lips, licking at the soft inner walls as his mouth opened, gently touching his teeth, and Gold let out a low growl of need from deep within his chest, thrusting up into her, his arm pulling her close.

Belle moaned again, rocking her hips, feeling him pulling out and sliding back, each brush against her clit a jolt of pleasure.  She was very wet, and her fluids had mixed with his hair and it was rubbing against her, creating the most wonderful friction.  She could feel herself building towards orgasm, her cheeks flushing, her heart thumping, and she tugged his head backwards to draw her tongue up his throat and bite down on the heavy throb of his pulse, making him groan.  His cock was hard and thick, her inner walls gripping him tightly, and she wanted him to come, wanted him to let go and thrust deep inside her.  She wanted to feel him with nothing between them, as it had always been before, to have him spurt his hot seed into her and take it deep with the force of her own climax.

“God, Belle!” he gasped.  “ _Fuck_ , that feels good!  Are you - do you need..?”

“Touch me!” she breathed, and he dropped a hand to hitch the skirt up around her waist, reaching between them to gently rub at her clit, his fingers stroking against flesh made slippery with her arousal as his cock thrust into her.

“Oh God!” she moaned.

His touch felt incredible, and he quickened his pace, his sounds of pleasure keeping time with their movements.  She was close, so close, and she badly wanted this to work, for them to come together.  For them to break the curse and bring him back to her.  She could feel his muscles tightening beneath her fingers, the tendons in his neck standing out, his skin hot and damp and covered in his wonderful scent, and she felt her own climax approaching.  Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she rode him, her breath coming in pants, and she locked eyes with him as he thrust up inside her with a loud cry of pleasure, his cock pulsing.  The feel of it took her with him and she threw back her head with a wail, stars bursting in her vision, the jingling of a bell bouncing around her skull, a jarring, unexpected sound that didn’t belong there.

She let her head fall forward to rest against his, both of them still letting out short, rhythmic cries as they pumped against one another, and she felt her body grow heavy and loose as a wave of pleasure washed over her, her bliss exhausting and all-consuming.  Gold was drawing rapid, shallow breaths, his skin sticky with perspiration, and she pressed a wet kiss to his mouth, making him smile against her lips and pull at them with his own.

“Well, well,” drawled a voice, making their mouths spring apart.  The Black Fairy stood in the doorway to the shop, her eyebrows raised, her mouth twisted in a smile and what looked like fury in her eyes.  “How _incredibly_ embarrassing.”


	6. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! It's a long one, but I hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> Last time, we left Belle and Gold being interrupted by the Black Fairy at the - ahem - climax of their time together. Here's what happened next

Belle stared, eyes wide with shock, and nervously licked the sweat from her upper lip as she pushed herself back a little, away from Gold, his arm still tight around her waist.  The Black Fairy was grinning at them as they tried to catch their breath.

“Don’t mind me,” she said airily, gesturing behind her.  “Just can’t resist a _Closed_ sign.  Especially at this time of day.   _Reeks_ of something untoward going on.”

“Would you get the hell out?” snapped Gold, and she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I interrupting something?” she asked, her eyes glittering with what looked like barely-suppressed rage.  “I had _no idea_ you two were so well-acquainted.”

“Out!” shouted Gold, his eyes flashing to match hers, and she let out a tinkling laugh and sashayed from the back room.  The shop’s bell jingled merrily as she left.

Gold let out a heavy sigh, his head dropping onto Belle’s chest, and she put her arms around him, leaning her head against his.

“Well, that was fucking awkward,” he murmured, and Belle nodded.  Awkward wasn’t the word.  She had a feeling things were going to get very unpleasant.

“I - I should go,” she said.  “I know we said two hours, but…”

“I quite understand,” he said quietly.

Belle kissed him again, taking him by surprise, and he pulled her close against him, even as she felt him soften and slip from her.  She let her tongue tease his, wishing she could stay.  Wishing she could collect Gideon and that they could just go back to the house they had shared and crawl into bed and stay there.  It was not to be, though.  She broke the kiss, pulling back with a sigh, and stood up, buttoning her blouse and rummaging in her purse for her panties.  Gold watched her, fastening his shirt, and she bent to pick up his tie from where she had thrown it, earning a nod of thanks.

“Sunday, then,” she said.  “If I don’t see you before.”

He was silent, and she waited for him to tell her no.  She decided she couldn’t bear to hear it.

“I’ll be cleaning the library for the rest of this week, when I’m not at the diner,” she said.  “If you want me, that’s where you’ll find me.”

He didn’t answer, and she shrugged on her coat, picking up her purse.  Her kiss still hadn’t worked.  She left the shop feeling somewhat dejected at her lack of success with the love of her life, and angry at being interrupted by his scheming mother.  A spatter of rain hit her face as she strode along.  The clouds were iron-grey and angry looking, matching her mood, and she stalked down Main Street in the direction of the Town Hall.  She was certain that the Black Fairy knew she was no longer cursed, and she was done pretending.  Time to face her fears.

“Hey, Belle.”  Kathryn looked up from the reception desk as she entered, smiling.  “You missed a great night last night.  We’re thinking of making it a regular thing, if you and Mary Margaret can get a sitter.”

“Great,” said Belle vaguely, and nodded at the door to the Mayor’s office.  “Is she in?”

“Yeah, she got back about five minutes ago,” said Kathryn, wincing.  “This might not be a good time.  She - doesn’t look to be in the best mood.”

“Good, neither am I,” said Belle grimly, and marched to the door, wrenching it open and striding into the office, ignoring Kathryn’s squawk of protest.  She let the door slam shut behind her, and the Black Fairy looked up from behind her desk.

“Ah, Miss French,” she said, smiling.  “I almost didn’t recognise you with your clothes on.”

Belle folded her arms beneath her breasts, raising her chin.

“I think we can stop pretending now, wouldn’t you agree?” she said.  “I know who you really are.”

“As I suspected,” said Black, showing her teeth.  “Well, it appears that you and I need to talk.”

She picked up her phone, and Belle heard a ringing outside at the reception desk, and the muffled sound of Kathryn’s voice.

“You can take the rest of the day off, dear,” said Black.  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

She put down the phone, leaning back in her chair, still with that insincere smile on her face.

“Well then, now that we’ll soon be alone,” she said.  “What can I do for you, Miss French?”

Belle glared at her.

“It’s Mrs Gold, and you bloody well know it,” she said coldly.

“Really?”  Black looked her over ostentatiously.  “I don’t see a ring.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that Rumple and I are husband and wife.”

“Oh, that you are.”  Black got up from behind her desk, clasping her hands together.  “And what a wife you’ve been!  So eager to keep him on the right path!  To bring out the _good_ in him!”

Belle opened and closed her mouth, confused as to how she could know that, and Black’s lips twisted in a satisfied smirk.

“Oh yes,” she said.  “I’ve kept an eye on my son ever since I found out who he was, all those years ago.  And I’ve kept an eye on _you_ , too.  It made for interesting viewing.  If somewhat painful at times.”

Belle decided that she didn’t want to know what Black had seen.

“Well, in the spirit of honesty,” she said.  “Why the curse?  Why are you doing this?”

“You know, I’m really rather more interested in how it is that you’re no longer under it,” mused Black, tapping a finger against her lips.  “What happened?”

Belle squared her jaw.  “True Love’s Kiss.”

“Really?”  Black looked disbelieving.  “And yet it didn’t work for him.  Strange.  Or perhaps not _that_ strange, if you think about it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” snapped Belle, her own insecurities rising within her, and Black shot her a look of false sympathy.

“Well, I’m sure that _he_ loves _you_ , poor deluded soul,” she purred.  “Whether it goes both ways is up for debate.”

“Of course I love him!”

“Really?”  The Black Fairy looked sceptical.  “You’ve got an odd way of showing it.  Still, not everyone can put family first, I suppose.”

Belle put her hands on her hips.

“I won’t take any lectures on family loyalty from the likes of you!” she snapped.

Black pressed a hand to her chest, looking affronted.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“You _abandoned_ your _son_!” said Belle fiercely, and Black raised a brow.

“If that’s true, we have something in common, don’t we dear?” she said, and Belle gaped at her.

“That - that was _different_.”

“Oh, it always is with you hero types,” she said dismissively, sniffing.  “Whenever _I_ do something it’s _evil_ , but whenever _you_ do the exact same thing, it’s somehow a noble act of sacrifice.  Positively nauseating.”

“I gave up my son because I wanted to give him his best chance!” insisted Belle.  “To save him from the darkness, to - to _protect_ him!”

“And why do you think I had to leave mine?” she snapped, suddenly cold.  “All I ever wanted was for him to be safe!  As my son would no doubt tell you, good intentions can result in the most terrible consequences!  If I’d known what would happen...”

She broke off, shaking her head, and looked away for a moment, her mouth twisting.

“Still,” she said quietly.  “I suppose we all make mistakes.  And suffer for them.”

“You have the _nerve_ to talk about suffering?”  Belle clenched her fists.  “After everything you did to Gideon?  After what you did to those other poor children?”

“Means to an end,” said Black carelessly.  “What I did to Gideon made him strong, and brave, which was exactly what you always wanted, wasn’t it?”

Belle stared at her in silence, and she shrugged.

“And I might add that none of the children I raised would have been in that situation if their parents had wanted to keep them,” she went on.  “You abandoned your own son.  And yet you want to blame _me_ for picking him up when you tossed him away?”

“That was because you manipulated the situation in the dream world!” said Belle, glaring at her.  “If you hadn’t had Gideon under your control in some sort of - of _test_ for Rumple I would never…”

“Oh, you foolish girl!”  Black looked astonished.  “What on _earth_ would you think I was testing _him_ for?  I was testing _you_!”

“Me?”  Belle blinked, confused.  “But…”

Black giggled, but her eyes were glinting with malice.

“So quick to see the worst in him, weren’t you?” she said sweetly.  “All it took was a vision of your son, and a bizarre warning, and off you stomped like a child throwing a tantrum.”

“That was _you_!” snapped Belle.  “Gideon would never say those terrible things about his father, I know that now!  You took his _heart_!”

“And you believed _every word_ ,” she whispered, leaning forwards.  “It certainly made things easier for me.  I knew Rumple wouldn’t let me through himself, not with his own mistaken beliefs about my motives, and I knew he’d never give up Gideon of his own free will.  But _you_ …”  Red lips curled upwards in a wicked grin.  “Insecurity is so very easy to manipulate.  Particularly alongside that tiresome hero complex you have going on.”

“Look, I know it wasn’t my finest hour,” began Belle.  “But Rumple had lied to me so often in the past, and…”

“...and you controlled him,” Black interrupted.  “Made him powerless to resist acting in the way _you_ wanted.  Tell me, my dear little hypocrite, how is my taking Gideon’s heart worse than you taking Rumple’s dagger?”

“I…”  Belle cut off, closing her eyes.  “I’m not proud of that.  You may not believe me, but I was trying to save people.  To save _him_.  I knew he could be a better man.  He still can be.  He - he already _is_.”

“Your belief in my son is - heartwarming, truly,” she said dryly.  “Too little, too late, of course…”

“I do believe in him,” said Belle, glaring at her.

“Oh yes,” said Black sarcastically.  “The evidence for _that_ is _staggering_.”

Belle felt her jaw tighten, but she decided to change the subject.

“What do you hope to achieve with all this?” she asked.  “You’re making innocent people miserable.  There must be more to it than revenge.”

“Well, leaving aside the ridiculous claim of innocence,” said Black airily, waving a hand.  “I rather find revenge is an end in itself.”

“But why the curse?” asked Belle.  “You’ve broken up every family in Storybrooke.  Why?  What do you get out of it?”

“Perhaps I’m simply spiteful and bitter,” she suggested, with a smirk, and Belle raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I can believe that,” she said dryly.  “But this curse wasn’t a spur of the moment thing.  You’ve been planning this for some time, and it must have taken a great deal of magic to create.  So why?”

“Because despite what you may think, I want what I’ve always wanted,” she said coldly.  “A happy ending for my son.”

“You separated him from his _child_!” protested Belle.  “In what twisted realm would you _ever_ think that would be what he wanted?”

The Black Fairy pursed her lips, looking vexed.

“Yes, that was a surprise,” she said.  “I hadn’t expected the child to end up with you.  Magic can be unpredictable in this realm, it seems.”

“You wanted _Rumple_ to have Gideon?” asked Belle.  “But - but instead you gave him loneliness and isolation and - and terrible guilt over Neal’s death!  Family has _always_ been the most important thing to Rumple!  How could you _do_ that to him?”

“I never wanted him to be miserable!” she snapped.  “I just wanted things to be difficult enough that he would ask for help.  I wanted him to come to me of his own free will.  To accept my help, and to work at my side, and for us to be a family when I lifted his curse!  When he could see that everything I’d done was for him!”

“And you think he’d leave me cursed?” demanded Belle.  “You think he’d be happy about Gideon being separated from his mother?  You _really_ don’t know him!”

Black glared at her.

“The only reason you’re still alive is because I’m well aware of what he feels for you,” she said coldly.  “But feelings can change, my dear.  For good and ill.”

Belle closed her eyes, shaking her head.

“You - you can’t _force_ love,” she said.  “No more than you can drive True Love away.  If you really want to fix things with him, this isn’t the way to go about it.”

“Are you seriously lecturing me on relationships?”  Black let out an amused giggle.  “ _You_ , of all people?  Why, you’re as bad as the rest of this so-called bunch of heroes!  None of you were in the least bit grateful for everything he’s done.  In fact some of these friends of yours have gone out of their way to thwart him at every turn.”

Belle opened her mouth for an angry retort, and then closed it again as realisation hit her.

“Is - is _that_ why you’re doing this?” she breathed.  “You’re _punishing_ the _town_?”

“Well, somebody bloody well ought to,” said Black, with a sniff.  “It appears the happy task has fallen to me.”

She winked at Belle, swaying her hips a little, and Belle shook her head.

“You won’t get what you want,” she said wearily.  “He won’t let you in, not like this.”

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

Belle sighed, running a hand over her face.

“This is pointless,” she said.  “Break the curse.   _Please!_  Break the curse and let everyone get on with their lives!  I can - I can try to talk to him for you, if you like, but I won’t stand by and let other people suffer.”

Black turned on the balls of her feet, her eyes flashing.

“You’ll stay out of it if you know what’s good for you,” she snapped.  “You’ll keep your hands and your fake smiles and your kisses away from my son, or I will take Gideon and put you back in that asylum you spent so much time in!”

Belle shuddered at the memory, and Black looked satisfied.

“I think I prefer this as a punishment for you,” she said thoughtfully.  “The only one awake.  Desperately wanting to help all those others, but not having the faintest idea how to do it.  That burning desire to be a hero when you’re nothing more than - well, than a _librarian_.”

She grinned widely, and Belle raised her chin, her jaw protruding a little.

“We’ll see,” she said quietly.  “This isn’t over.”

She stomped from the room, the Black Fairy’s laughter following her out, determination rising within her.

* * *

She got little sleep that night, her mind whirling as she ran over the conversation in her mind again.  The Black Fairy seemed convinced that True Love’s Kiss wouldn’t work for them, and she was trying desperately not to let her own insecurities cloud her judgement.  Henry was right.  There had to be a reason that her curse had broken and Rumple’s hadn’t, and she was beginning to think it was the nature of the curse itself.  She rose early, and began reading through her notebook again.  Every family was divided in some way, children either missing one or both parents, couples separated (all but Emma and Hook) and siblings not speaking due to some imaginary feud.  That _had_ to be the key.

As soon as dawn broke, she wrapped Gideon up against the cold, and made her way into town, cleaning materials tucked into the base of the stroller and a plastic mop bucket swinging from one hand.  A buzz from her phone made her pause, and she smiled as she saw Henry’s number.

“Are you at the library?” he asked, when she answered.  “I wanted to talk to you.  It won’t take long.”

“On my way,” she said, and slipped the phone back into her purse.

Henry was waiting for her outside the library, bouncing impatiently on his toes, and his face broke into a relieved grin as she came into view.

“I was thinking about what you said,” he began, as she opened up and let them inside.  “About getting people to remember.  About needing something more.  I think you’re right.  I showed my mom the book, and nothing happened, so I kissed her cheek.”

“Really?”  Belle stopped, spinning to face him.  “Any luck?”

Henry shook his head.

“No, but I’m certain she felt something,” he said eagerly.  “She looked kind of puzzled, but then she just gave me a hug, so it didn’t work.  Not totally, anyway.”

“I had something similar with Rumple,” said Belle thoughtfully.  “He said he felt something, but the curse didn’t break for him.  It’s a good sign though, right?”

“I knew we could find a way!”  Henry was beaming.  “True Love _has_ to be part of it!”

“It’s not just True Love,” said Belle.  “That’s important, but it’s not the key.  I spoke to the Black Fairy.”

 _“What?”_ Henry looked astounded.  “You - you _talked_ to her about the curse?  She knows your curse is broken?”

“Yeah,” sighed Belle.  “She thinks I’m the only one, so be careful.”

“How did she find out?” asked Henry, and Belle hesitated.

“That’s - not important,” she said, blushing a little.  “What’s important is what she let slip about the curse.  About the key to breaking it, or at least what I _think_ is the key to breaking it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s families,” said Belle.  “The curse specifically broke up families, so it doesn’t matter if two people who are True Love kiss.  If the family isn’t together, it won’t work.”  She sighed, rubbing her eyes with a hand.  “Oh, she’s clever…”

“And - and that’s why it worked for you, because you have Gideon,” said Henry excitedly.  “But it didn’t work for Grandpa, because he doesn’t remember that he loves you and - well, because he doesn’t have anyone, I guess.”

“Yeah.”  Belle bit her lip, sadness washing over her.  “Yeah, he’s alone, isn’t he?”

“And Emma doesn’t have me,” added Henry.  “And Regina…  Wait, Regina and I have been together even under the curse!  What do you think she’s missing?  Is it Zelena?”

“Maybe,” said Belle slowly.  “Maybe not.  Think about it, Henry.  You’re not just _her_ son.  You’re Emma’s, too.  The three of you are a family, right?  Or - well, I was going to say Hook, but…”

“Oh, forget about him,” said Henry dismissively.  “He’s no different under the curse anyway, and Emma’s miserable.  Maybe you’re right.  Maybe I need to get my moms to see _we’re_ a family.  All three of us.”

“It’s worth a try,” she agreed, smiling at his hopeful face.

“And then I need to get Grandma Snow and Grandpa David to talk, and that’ll be another family together,” he added.

“You’d best get to work, then,” she said, amused, and laughed as he kissed her cheek.

“I’ll let you know how it goes!” he called, as he ran from the library, and Belle watched him go with a fond expression.  Now, if she could only get Rumple to accept Gideon...

* * *

Gold hadn’t slept.

It wasn’t unusual for him to suffer from insomnia.  In fact, on the few occasions where he did sleep more than a few hours, he would be plagued by strange and terrifying dreams.  Darkness, and torment.  Being caged and terrified, and then a crushing sense of powerlessness and loss.  He had had them as long as he could remember, and it was almost a relief to lie with his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling and wondering why he was awake.

He decided to go to the shop early, not that there would be any customers at that hour.  Still, there was a certain soothing pleasure in the routine of opening and checking his ledgers, of dusting the merchandise and reminding himself of what was in storage in the back room.  He was rummaging through one of the boxes of stock when he felt a tickle at the back of his neck, almost as though he were being watched, and he glanced over his shoulder at the empty room, frowning.  The spinning wheel he had uncovered stood as he had left it, the wheel itself shining faintly in the light, and he put down the old book he had been looking at and stepped over to it.  The stool was smooth and comfortable as he sat down, and he ran his fingers over the wooden spokes of the wheel, as though he was remembering its use.  A ridiculous idea, of course; he had never spun in his life, but there was a tickle at the back of his mind that made him think he ought to know how.

_Why do you spin so much?_

Belle’s voice sounded in the back of his head, light and curious, and he blinked rapidly, confused.  Pushing to his feet, he gave the spinning wheel a final, cautious glance, and strode into the shop.  Lack of sleep was getting to him.

His day didn’t go well.  There were no customers, apart from a couple of tenants with their usual whining excuses about late rent payments, and he really wasn’t in the mood to deal with them.  The Mayor’s unexpected interruption the previous day was preying on his mind; she had clearly been coming to see him about something, and yet she hadn’t returned.  He very much doubted that she was embarrassed by what she had witnessed, in fact she had seemed to find it amusing, of all things.  Still, her appearance was niggling at him, needling his brain.  There was something she wanted, and he decided that he’d far rather get it out in the open than wonder when she was going to turn up again.  If she was still harping on about that Deputy Mayor post he could tell her no for the twentieth time and be done.

He closed up the shop at ten to five, which was earlier than usual, but he preferred to confront the Mayor at the town hall rather than have to go to her home.  Her assistant Kathryn nodded stiffly as he entered, which he supposed was all he could expect from her given that he’d almost evicted her that one time, and she showed him through to the office, where the Mayor sat behind the wide, heavy desk.  He had always found her choice in decor to be somewhat ostentatious, but perhaps it gave her some sense of power she wouldn’t otherwise possess.  He decided he couldn’t care less.

“Mr Gold,” she said, leaning back in her chair with a knowing grin on her face.  “I’ve been wondering when you might make an appearance.”

“Yes, well.”  He straightened his cuffs.  “At least I had your assistant announce me, rather than barging in without so much as a knock.  A small courtesy, but effective in polite society, I find.”

“Hmm.”  She looked amused, swinging in the chair a little.  “Yes.  Of course I _had_ thought your shop was a place of business, not a brothel.  My mistake.”

His mouth flattened, and he twisted the ring on his left hand, an almost unconscious gesture.

“If you’re trying to suggest that there was anything illegal going on…”

“No no, I’m sure your relationship is _entirely_ consensual with no imbalance of power whatsoever,” she said, with a mocking grin.  “A true meeting of minds.  Fate, almost.  The pure joining of two souls with no ulterior motive from either party.”

She clasped her hands, batting her eyelids, and Gold kept his face smooth.

“My relationship with Miss French, such as it is, is none of your business,” he said calmly, and she pursed her lips.

“Of course,” she said lightly.  “I don’t mean to pry.  I’m _sure_ that beautiful young woman has many _excellent_ reasons for being mostly naked in the back room of your shop.”

His jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes.  She was right.  If he hadn’t been thinking of his own desires he would never have allowed this travesty of a deal to take place.

“Not that I’ve given it any thought, of course,” she went on, her tone careless.  “But I imagine financial difficulties have something to do with it.  Such a pity, that poor boy of hers having to grow up in poverty.”

“Yes,” he said quietly.  “A great pity.”

“Of course I offered to take him myself, you know,” she added.  “There’s no one in this town with as much experience of caring for children, but she seemed uninterested.  Perhaps it’s merely a matter of the right kind of pressure...”

“A child should be with his mother,” said Gold, turning away.  “She loves him.  Of course she wasn’t interested.”

“Yes, but if the mother can’t provide a stable home life, then is it really fair on the child?” she asked slyly.  “Especially when there are people out there willing and able to give him a loving home, and everything he could ever want?”

Gold turned back to her with a twisted smile.

“What, people like you?” he asked.  “Is that why you called me?  Legal advice?  If you expect me to help you wrest that child from his mother’s arms…”

“No no, not _me_ ,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest.  “I was thinking about _you_.”

Gold blinked.

“What?” he said faintly.

“I know how much you miss your son,” she said, smiling slightly.  “Haven’t you ever thought about raising another?”

Gold gave her a flat look.  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said coldly.  “My son has been dead twenty years, and I never once thought about - replacing him.”

“Of course not,” she said impatiently.  “This wouldn’t be _replacing_ him, it would be giving a loving and stable home to a child in need.  A child you could love, and who could love you back.  A child to pass your name on to.”

“I’m not in the business of stealing children from their mothers!” he snapped, and she sighed.

“I’m merely thinking of what’s best for the child,” she said.  “Miss French clearly has money troubles if she’s willing to sell her body to you.  Oh, no offence, of course.”

Gold raised an eyebrow, and she gave a languid wave of her hand.

“Imagine how she’ll make ends meet when you get bored and move on,” she continued.  “Which of course you will.  I predict an alcohol problem, late nights at that disgusting bar and a quick tryst in the back alley with its varied regulars for a few measly dollars.”

“Miss French has no pressing financial concerns that I’m aware of,” he said stiffly, shoving away the awful picture she had painted in his mind.  “And how she chooses to spend her free time is her own affair.”

“Can’t be good for the child, though,” she said, her voice dripping with insincerity.  “Or for her mental state.  She was in here earlier, you know.  Rambling on about some nonsense.  A curse, or something.  She really seemed a little deranged...”

He hesitated.   _A curse.  That’s what she said before.  She said we broke a curse.  True Love’s Kiss, or something equally ridiculous._

“What did she say?” he asked, and she waved a dismissive hand.

“Oh, I don’t know!  That there was a curse on the town and she was trying to break it.  It was the most bizarre thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Yes,” he said.  “Yes, it does sound…”

“But then I had no idea she has a history of mental illness,” she interrupted.  “She was incarcerated, you know.  For _years_!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he snapped, and she put her hands on her hips.

“Ask her, if you don’t believe me,” she said.  “She was quite open about it, I assure you.  And now she’s raising that child alone.  Who _knows_ what happens when she closes the front door?”

Gold shook his head.

“What the hell are you trying to say?” he demanded, and she shrugged, letting one shoulder rise and fall, a gleam in her dark eyes.

“I’m saying that if you were inclined to give an innocent child its best chance, I’m sure there are strings that can be pulled,” she said.

For a moment he simply stared at her, and then he let out a brief, humourless laugh.

“Miss French loves that boy,” he said.  “And she seems perfectly sane to me.  If you think I’d have any part in breaking up that family, you’re delusional.  Good day, Madam Mayor.”

He turned on his heel and made for the door, straightening the collar of his coat with short, irritated tugs.

“Have it your way,” she called after him.  “But think about the future that poor boy might suffer, and how you could change that.  Think about what you wanted for your own son.”

He tried to ignore her, striding swiftly from her office, and pushed the outer door open with enough force to make it bang back against the wall.   _Take the child from its mother!  Who on_ earth _does she think I am, Rumplestiltskin?_  He stopped dead, remembering Belle’s words after their first time together, and shook his head.   _I’m losing it.  I’m bloody well losing it!_

He walked quickly through the creeping dusk, rings of light from the streetlamps throwing his shadow ahead as he passed through them, and before he realised where he was heading he found himself standing outside the library.  There was a light on inside, a flicker of movement through the windows, and he hesitated, unsure why he was there or what he should do.  He could hear a faint humming, and saw a flash of blue and brown as a figure swept into his sight.  Belle, cleaning the floor with a wet mop, her hair tied back from her face as she worked.

_Why did you want me here?_

_The place was filthy_.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear his head, but her image only became clearer, a fondness in her eyes, a wry twist of her mouth.

_I think you were lonely._

Gold opened his eyes again, his breath catching.   _God, I’m losing my mind!  I need to sleep.  I have to sleep..._

He pushed open the door, stepping inside, and Belle looked up, her face brightening in a smile that made his heart clench.  The stroller was by the circulation desk, the child staring at him from inside it, and for a moment he seemed frozen in place, his breath catching in his throat.  Belle wrung out the mop in her bucket, leaning it against the wall and dusting off her hands.

“Hey,” she said, and put her head to the side.  “Are you okay?”

“No,” he said quietly.  “No, I’m really not.”

* * *

Mary Margaret had just finished changing Neal when the knock came at her front door.  Frowning, she bagged the dirty diaper and quickly washed her hands.  The knock came again.

“Coming!” she called, and hurried over.  Pulling open the door, she blinked.  Her visitor was the last person that she expected to see.

“David?” she said, surprised, and he gave her an uncertain smile.

“Hey, Mary Margaret.”

He shifted his feet a little, looking awkward, and she raised an eyebrow, ignoring the way her heart was thumping.  Shock, that was it.  Surprise at seeing him again, after so many months of him pretending she and Neal didn’t exist.  Or maybe anger.  Yes, there was plenty of that, starting to bubble up from where it had lain dormant for so long.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, clutching at the door, and he glanced around for a moment, as though looking for assistance.

“I - look, would you mind if I come in?”

She hesitated for a moment, but shrugged and stepped back, holding the door open.  David stepped into the apartment, his eyes going to Neal, who was lying on his back on the blanket, playing with his toes.  David swallowed hard.

“That’s him?” he asked.  “My - my son?”

“That’s him,” said Mary Margaret, her tone curt.  “I didn’t think you cared.  You certainly didn’t care enough to visit when he was born.”

“I know.”  He was fidgeting nervously, his fingers twisting around themselves, and she wanted to slap his hands to get him to stop.  “I - well, I guess I was scared.”

Mary Margaret’s mouth fell open.

“Oh, _you_ were scared?” she snapped.  “How do you think _I_ felt?”

“I know!” he said hastily.

“No, you _don’t_ know!” she insisted.  “You have no _idea_!  You weren’t there, David!  You weren’t there when I was crying myself to sleep because I thought I couldn’t cope!  You weren’t there when I worried I wouldn’t be able to provide for him!  No, you were at - at that damn _bar_ drinking with Killian Jones and living your _life_ like nothing happened!  Don’t you _dare_ tell me you know how I felt!”

“I’m - I’m sorry, Mary Margaret!” he said, raising his hands.  “I truly am, I swear it!”

She stared at him, her chest heaving with emotion, and he was staring at her, a stricken expression on his face.  A face she had wanted to _slap_ ever since he had walked out on her, but for a moment, seeing the genuine regret in his eyes made her remember what had drawn her to him in the first place.  Neal began to whimper, picking up on the atmosphere in the room, and she bent to pick him up, holding him close.  He quieted at once, tiny fingers catching in the collar of her shirt.  She glared at David over his shoulder, and David sighed.

“Look,” he said gently.  “I know I screwed up.  I left you to deal with this alone, and there’s no excuse for that…”

“You’re right, there isn’t.”

“...but I’m sorry, and I want to help,” he continued.  “Going forward, I want to be a part of his life.  I know it doesn’t make up for the past, but I wanted to try.”

“A part of his life?”  Mary Margaret narrowed her eyes.  “In what way?  You mean take him out for ice cream once every other weekend?”

“No no,” said David hastily.  “More than that.  I - I want to support you.  Both of you.  In whatever way you’re comfortable with.  I swear it, Mary Margaret.”

“Really?”  She folded her arms.  “What changed your mind?”

He pulled a face, looking rueful.

“Regina, believe it or not,” he admitted.  “She chewed me up one side and down the other last night, and it made me realise how much of an asshole I’d been.”

“Hmm.”  She nodded.  “Well, you certainly _were_ an asshole, no question about that.”

“And - and earlier I saw Henry,” he said.  “And out of the blue he just looked at me and told me I should come and talk to you.”  He ran a hand through his hair, looking perplexed.  “It - it was almost like fate.  Like there was something out there pushing me to try to fix this.”

Mary Margaret pursed her lips, rocking Neal gently in her arms.

“David, I don’t know…” she said awkwardly.  “I don’t think you have any idea how much it _hurt_ that you abandoned us.”

“I want to make up for it,” he said sincerely.  “I’m - I’m not expecting you to trust me, not after everything I’ve done, but please let me try.”

Mary Margaret gazed at him, trying to gauge the truth of his words.  He was staring back at her, his blue eyes filled with sincerity, and she remembered how it had felt when they first met.  When she had thought he was the one.  When she had loved him.

“I’m not going to stand in the way of a father wanting to bond with his son,” she said eventually.  “So yes, you can try.  We should probably sit down and work out how things are going to be.”

“I’d like that,” he said gently, and glanced at Neal.  “Can I - can I hold him?”

“Oh.”  She opened and closed her mouth.  “Um - sure, I guess…”

She held Neal out to him, and David took him in both hands, lifting him up to look him over properly.

“Hey there, little guy,” he said gently.  “You’re a handsome fella, aren’t you?  I’m your dad, okay?”

Neal burbled something, waving his arms, and David cradled him in one arm, smiling down at him with a softness in his face that made Mary Margaret want to cry.

“He’s beautiful,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” she said softly, and took a step closer.  She could smell David’s cologne, and it made her heart ache.  She hadn’t realised how much she had missed him, caught up as she was in caring for Neal and in her own heartbreak and anger at David leaving her.  He glanced up at her, his face alight with love, and she could feel herself wanting to make it work.  Wanting to let him in.

“I really think we need to talk,” he said, and she nodded, swallowing hard.

“Yes,” she said.  “Yes, we do.”

* * *

“I don’t understand why you’re so insistent on going to Granny’s for dinner,” said Regina, as Henry almost herded her along the street.  “Doesn’t the Mayor feed you?”

“Sure she does, but this isn’t about me,” he said firmly.  “I thought it would be a good chance for the three of us to hang out, that’s all.”

“The - what?”  Regina looked startled, and Henry sighed and pulled open the diner door.

“The three of us,” he said patiently, and gestured to one of the booths, where a surprised-looking Emma was watching them.  Regina felt her cheeks begin to flush.

“Henry…”

“So, I’ll have a root beer,” he interrupted brightly.  “Same for you?  Take a seat, I’ll get the drinks.”

“I think I may be needing something a little stronger,” muttered Regina, but she walked over to where Emma was sitting, feeling oddly nervous.

“Hey,” said Emma.  “Did Henry tell you what this is about?”

“Not a word,” sighed Regina, running a hand through her hair as she took a seat.  “I thought we were just having dinner.”

“Me too, but given that he said it was his treat…”

Emma gave Henry a very dry look, but he was leaning over the bar talking to Granny, and didn’t notice.

“I’m not one to turn down a free burger, though,” she admitted, shrugging.  “It’ll make a change not to cook.”

She had her hair pulled back into a ponytail again, her face pale, but she was at least wearing something that seemed a little more her: a red plaid shirt tied at the waist over black jeans.  Regina smiled.

“Why don’t we get a bottle of wine?” she offered, and Emma smiled.

“Why not?”

Regina raised a hand to give Granny the order, and the wine was opened and two glasses poured.  Henry was now talking to Kathryn, of all people, showing her that big storybook he had found, and Regina turned back to Emma, who was watching her over the rim of her wineglass.

“How are you?” she asked.  “Everything go okay after I left on Tuesday?”

“Oh.”  Emma set down her glass, and looked at her hands.  “Yeah, I guess so.”

Regina pursed her lips, picking up on her awkwardness.

“We should do girls’ night again,” she suggested.  “How about Friday?”

“I don’t know…”  Emma pulled a face.  “Killian and I might be doing something.”

“Has he said you’re doing something?”

“Well, no, but…”

She shrugged, and Regina decided not to push that one.

“Was he okay about you going out with us?” she asked, and Emma wrinkled her nose.

“He said he was,” she said slowly.  “I mean, I know he likes it when I’m at home, waiting for him.  But - but I’m sure he’d be okay with me going out again.”

 _If he’s not okay with it, he can kiss my ass_ , thought Regina.  Aloud she said: “Great!  Then we’ll call Mary Margaret and Kathryn and Belle and we’ll fix up another night!”

“It’s a date,” said Emma.  “Maybe you could - do my hair again?”

“Of course.”  Regina sent her a wide smile.  “It would be my pleasure.”

“Gotta admit, it was nice to get dressed up for an evening,” said Emma, looking a little self-conscious.

Regina nodded slowly, resting her elbows on the table and threading her fingers together.

“Where’s your husband tonight?” she asked carefully, and Emma’s mouth twisted.

“He’s - at the bar,” she said.  “Again.  Where else would he be, after all?  Not a lot to come home for, I guess.”

“If he thinks that, he’s an even bigger idiot than I thought,” said Regina, with a sniff, but at Emma’s stricken expression she decided to change the subject.  She picked up her wineglass and took a sip.

“Henry seems to have made it his mission to get us to socialise,” she remarked.  “Two nights out in one week has to be a record of some kind for me.”

“He’s a great kid,” said Emma, with a genuine smile.  “Smart.  Funny.  It breaks my heart that he had to grow up without parents.”

Regina was surprised, and she set down her glass, leaning forward a little.

“He told you that?”

“Yeah.”  Emma took a drink.  “We kind of bonded over a glass of milk at the Mayor’s house one day.”  She inclined her head.  “I never knew my folks, either.”

“Oh,”  Regina reached out to put a hand on her arm.  “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”  Emma looked off into the distance, and Regina tried to think of something to say that would help.

“Do you - ever think about looking for them?” she asked tentatively, and Emma pulled a face.

“When I was a kid, maybe,” she said.  “Not since.  Even if I met them, i don’t know what I’d say to them.  What do you say to two people who just _left_ you to fend for yourself?”

“I had a - difficult - relationship with my mother,” admitted Regina.  “She was - well, she was controlling, to put it mildly.  My life really wasn’t my own.”

“That sucks,” said Emma, and took a sip of her wine.  “Do you guys still talk?”

“She died some time ago,” said Regina.  “She wasn’t an easy person to like, but things were better at the end.  I think she knew how much she had hurt me, and she was sorry for it.”

“I guess that’s something, at least.”  Emma sighed, and took another drink.  “That’s the thing about Storybrooke, I’ve noticed.  Everyone else’s life is just as screwed up as your own.”

“God, this town’s a mess!” said Regina, with feeling, and Emma chuckled.

“Yeah, I think that’s why so many of us have kind of made our own families, right?”

“Well, Henry and I do kind of pretend we’re related,” Regina admitted.  “Wanna get in on it?”

“We’re gonna be a two mom household?”  Emma grinned.  “Doesn’t that lead to an endless cycle of ‘go ask your mother’?”

“Not if the rules are clear in the first place.”

“I call dibs on deciding on the purchase of snacks,” said Emma, raising a hand.

“Okay, but one of us has to insist on homework being done,” said Regina, with mock seriousness, and Emma grinned.

“Yeah, you can be the hardass,” she said, and clinked her glass against Regina’s.

They both giggled a little, and Regina wondered idly whether Henry was planning on ordering any dinner that evening.  He appeared to have moved on to talk to Marco.  Emma sat back with a sigh, her good mood seeming to evaporate.

“Somehow I can’t imagine Killian talking through shared responsibility like that,” she said dryly, and Regina took another drink, raising a brow as she licked a droplet of wine from her lip.

“Well, then he doesn’t deserve you,” she said firmly, and Emma shook her head, looking uncomfortable.

“I’m nothing special.”

“No, you are,” said Regina immediately, and Emma glanced up at her, blinking in surprise.  Regina licked her lips, suddenly nervous.

“You - actually sound as though you mean that,” said Emma softly, and Regina nodded.

“I do,” she said, and Emma shook her head.

“Why?”

Regina was quiet for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts.  Trying to express what she felt about the woman opposite her, without sounding like an idiot.  Eventually she decided that whether she made a fool of herself or not was unimportant.  She had to tell the truth.

“I think - I think there’s something amazing in you, Emma Swan,” she said.  “Like - like a fire that’s burning, and can never be smothered, no matter how much crap gets thrown on it.”

“Doesn’t feel like that,” sighed Emma.

“Maybe not,” acknowledged Regina.  “I understand what it is to feel like your life is going nowhere, but you can still change things for the better.  I think we both know you’re wasted as a secretary.”

For a moment Emma met her eyes, but then she shook her head, her mouth flattening in a thin line.

“We don’t all have the luxury of choosing our path,” she said.  “I have to take what I can damn well get, whether or not you think it’s beneath me.”

She pushed back her chair and stood up.

“Look, thanks for the drink,” she said, her voice dull.  “I’d better get home.  Killian’s dinner won’t make itself, and I have a ton of laundry to do before I get a few hours’ sleep and wake up tomorrow to run through this whole shitshow again.”

She stomped off, wrenching open the diner door, and Regina sighed, annoyed with herself.  She got to her feet, reaching the door just as Emma was starting to walk away.

“Emma, wait.”  Regina put a hand on her arm, and Emma spun to face her with a heavy sigh.

“Look, I’m sorry,” said Regina.  “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.  I just - I just find it frustrating when I see a good person being treated like crap by everyone around them.  You could be Sheriff yourself, you know.”

“I could not…”

“You _could_ ,” insisted Regina, folding her arms.  “You’re intelligent, and you care about people, and you were the only one that suggested looking in that old mining shaft for Henry when he was ten.”

Emma rolled her eyes as if to say that anyone would have done the same, and Regina threw up her hands.

“You may have forgotten it, Miss Swan, but you’re a strong person,” she said sharply.  “And frankly, the fact that you haven’t stamped on Nottingham’s crotch by now just shows your resilience.   _You_ should be Sheriff.  Run for office, and kick that drunken creep out!”

“That’s not me,” sighed Emma, looking frustrated.  “Look, Regina, I know you mean well, but I’m just a regular person.  I don’t have any ambitions beyond keeping a roof over my head and food on the table.”

“Bullshit!” snapped Regina, and Emma glared at her, a spark of fire in her eyes that caused a surge of hope in Regina’s heart.

“You don’t know me!” she snapped.  “You have no idea what my life’s been like, what I’ve gone through!  You think you can buy me a couple of drinks and you have this insight?  Well, bad news, lady!  You think I’m _special_?  I’m just a goddamn _secretary_!  And I clean the Mayor’s bathrooms and mop her floors for minimum wage and I say fucking thank you for the damn privilege!”

Her chest was heaving with emotion, her cheeks flushed with anger, and Regina thought she’d never seen anyone more beautiful in her life.

“If you think that’s all you are, Emma, you’re an idiot!” she snapped.  “I think that deep down, you’re incredibly brave, and strong, and it’s - it’s like you’ve _forgotten_ it because all you can see is that _man_ who took this creature of - of _light_ and _goodness_ and turned her into this - this empty shell that doesn’t have the energy to care about herself or anyone else and I can’t _stand_ it!”

 _“Why?”_ shouted Emma, flinging her hands into the air.  “Why the hell do you care about me?”

“Because I’m in love with you!”

The words hung in the air, and Emma’s mouth fell open in shock.  Regina stared at her, wanting to clap a hand over her own mouth.

 _“Finally,”_ said Henry, from the doorway.

For a moment there were only the faint noises from the diner and the distant sound of passing cars.  Regina reached out to Henry, and he stepped close, taking her hand.

“Emma?” he said.  “Are you okay?”

“I - um…”  Emma was looking at the ground with her hands on her hips, her feet shifting awkwardly.  “I - yeah.  Yeah, I’m okay.”

Regina wanted to burst from the tension, her heart thudding in her chest.

“Emma,” she said quietly.  “I never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable, I swear it.”

“No, it’s cool.”  Emma glanced up at her.  “I just - wow.  It’s a lot to process, that’s all.”

“I understand.”

Regina felt as though she was dying.  In fact dying would probably be preferable to waiting for the one who held her heart to crush it in her hand.  Emma stopped her fidgeting, and looked up at Regina.  Her face was calm, but there was a pale pink flush high on her cheeks, and she swallowed hard, squaring her jaw.  Regina waited, and Emma took a step forward.  She was breathing heavily, her lips parted, her eyes bright.

“You love me?” she whispered, and Regina raised her chin.

“Yes.”

Emma took another step closer, almost close enough to touch, and Henry squeezed Regina’s hand.

“And - and you think I’m special,” said Emma.

“I _know_ you’re special,” said Regina softly.

Emma’s mouth curved upwards, a brief, hopeful smile.  Her eyes were bright, filled with the life that Regina had seen before only in flashes.  She shuffled a little closer, her perfume drifting into Regina’s nose, and reached out to take Henry’s other hand.

“I never thought,” she whispered.  “I never thought you even noticed me.”

Regina drew a deep breath, meeting her gaze.

“It’s gotten to the point where all I can see is you,” she said quietly.

Emma reached up to touch her cheek, her palm smooth and cool.  Regina leaned into the touch, blinking back tears, and Emma moved in slowly and gently pressed a soft kiss to her mouth.

A plume of light burst out, rainbow colours rippling outwards, and Emma pulled back with a gasp, her eyes wide.  Regina was panting, leaning on Henry, her mouth open in shock, and Emma shook her head as though she was trying to clear it.

“I _knew_ it!” said Henry triumphantly.

* * *

Gold had been pacing slowly back and forth, trying to organise his thoughts.  To her credit, Belle had simply waited patiently, her hands clasped in front of her, and eventually he spun on the balls of his feet, wanting it over with.  Wanting it settled.

“I spoke to the Mayor,” he said.  “I thought I should warn you that she didn’t take kindly to what she - witnessed.  She seems to have gotten it into her head that you’re not fit to raise your son.”

Belle’s eyes narrowed, her hands flying apart and the fists clenching.

“She can stay the hell away from my son!” she spat, and he nodded wearily.

“I told her much the same,” he said, “but when she gets her claws into something it can be hard to pull her from that path.  She could make things difficult for you.”

Belle sighed, shrugging in an almost defeated manner.

“What do you suggest?”

Gold sucked in his cheeks, trying to find the right words.

“You still love the child’s father,” he said quietly.  “If I could help you find him, if I could bring him back to Storybrooke, would you want to make it work?”

She stared at him, and shook her head slightly, as though she didn’t believe him.

“You - want to help me find his father?”

“Yes,” he said, making his voice as flat and emotionless as possible.  “If I could, would you want me to?  Would you make a family with him, and let your child know both his parents?”

Her lip wobbled, and she blinked, using the heel of one hand to dash away what looked suspiciously like a tear.

“Oh believe me, finding him isn’t the issue,” she said, her voice shaking a little.  “But yes, I want that.  I want that so much!”

Gold let his head drop, pain lancing through him.  When he looked up again, she was breathing heavily, her gaze beseeching, as though she was begging for him to understand something.  He thought he knew what.

“Very well,” he said softly.  “I release you from our agreement.  I should never have made it in the first place.  If you get into financial difficulties, we’ll - I suppose we’ll find another way.”

“That’s not what I’m asking…”

“You love another,” he said, feeling as though the words were being ripped from his soul.  “I won’t keep a family apart.  Your son should know his father.”

“That’s what I want!” she insisted, and to his surprise she stamped her foot, throwing her arms up in frustration.  “Oh, damn this bloody curse to hell, you don’t understand!”

Sighing, she shook her head, and crossed to the stroller, picking up the child and cradling him in her arms as she walked over to face him.

“Would you hold him?” she asked.  “Just for a moment.”

Gold wanted to take a step back, his eyes narrowing.

“Why?”

“Please?” she begged.  “Please, just - just humour me for a minute.”

He swallowed, feeling unsure, and not knowing why, but he nodded, reaching out, and took the baby from her, cradling him in the crook of one arm.  The child blinked at him, looking over his face, as if he were somehow interested in being held by this stranger again.  He reached out to grab at the silk tie, and it made Gold smile.  As bright and inquisitive as his mother, this one.

“What else did the Mayor say about us?” asked Belle, and he winced.

“She asked me if I would take him,” he whispered.  “If I would take him from you.  Give him a home with someone more - I mean, with someone who could provide for him.”

She was silent for a moment, and he gently rocked the child, unable to look at her, as though it had been his suggestion, and not the Mayor’s.

“And what was your answer?” she asked.

He glanced up at her, and she was staring at him with those achingly beautiful eyes of hers.  He expected to see censure there, but there was only sadness.  And compassion, although he couldn’t understand why.

“I lost one son,” he said calmly.  “It was a long time ago, but I’ll never have another, and I know the terrible pain of losing the one person you love in all the world.  I could never do that to you, Belle.”

Her mouth twitched a little, and she put a hand on his arm as he rocked the child, her touch electric, even through the woollen sleeve of his overcoat.

“I know you must miss Bae terribly,” she said, her voice gentle, “but it doesn’t mean you can’t love another child.”

At the sound of that name, the shortened middle name of his long-dead son, the name that no one else knew, Gold jerked his head up to face her.  His heart was thumping hard in his chest, and he could feel his breath quicken with the shock of it.

“What did you say?” he whispered, and she blinked.

“Um - I said that you must miss Bae terribly…”

“How do you know that name?” he asked dangerously, and she opened and closed her mouth.

“Well, I…”

“ _No one_ here knows that name!”

“No one here _remembers_ ,” she said softly.  “No one but me.”

Gold shook his head.

“You couldn’t have been much more than a child when he died,” he said.  “How could you possibly know that?”

She looked irritated, as though she was aware that she had spoken rashly, but then she seemed to rally, lifting her chin with that determination he so admired.

“Because I know _you_ ,” she said, and he felt his lip curl.

“I think not, Miss French.”

Belle rolled her eyes, putting her hands on her hips and fixing him with a stare.

“I know you won’t drink Earl Grey before noon,” she said briskly.  “In the morning you have Darjeeling, or coffee.  You won’t eat eggs in a basket because your father used to make them for you and you don’t want to be reminded of him.  Shall I go on?”

Gold was aware that his mouth was open, and snapped it shut.

“You don’t need to sleep a lot,” she went on, “but when you do you have vivid dreams.   _Terrible_ dreams, sometimes.  You dream of being in a cage, of being hurt, and you wake with your heart pounding until you remember that you’re safe.  But it always makes you sad because you remember that Bae is gone.  Over and over, you remember that.”

She hesitated, the tip of her tongue flicking out to wet her lips.

“You feel - you feel as though you’re having your heart ripped out all over again when you wake,” she continued.  “And so you don’t like to sleep.”

He leaned on the circulation desk, his breath coming hard in his chest.

“How can you know that?” he whispered.  “I’ve never told anyone that.”

“You told _me_ ,” she said gently.  “You told me about it once, in the middle of the night, and you said not to worry.  You told me you were fine, and I pretended to believe you.”

He shook his head, as though he was trying to shake off her words.  Shake off the flashes of what felt more like memories than dreams.  Of her there beside him, in white silk and lace.  Soothing hands on his shoulders, her gentle kisses on his cheeks and the feel of her arms around him as she whispered comfort to him.  Belle heaved a sigh, looking uncomfortable.

“The - the worst part,” she went on, “the worst part is that I knew you weren’t.  Deep down, I _knew_ you weren’t fine.  But it was easier to pretend.  Pretend that everything was great and wonderful, and there wasn’t this - this cloud of darkness hanging over us, waiting to rain down.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said automatically, and blinked in surprise.   _What the hell is she talking about?_

“I wanted to be happy,” she whispered.  “After everything, after losing you, and then Bae…  I wanted so much for us to be happy.  You wanted it too, I know that.  I see it now.  But the darkness, it - it _twists_ everything.  We never stood a chance, not then.”

He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.  The child let out a tiny grumbling noise, and he looked down at the fingers still clinging to the silk of his tie.

“His name is Gideon,” said Belle.  “I named him after the hero in my favourite book.  Do you remember?  You caught me with that book so many times...”

He shook his head again, but a vision flashed through his mind.  An image of Belle, in a long blue dress, curled on a chaise upholstered in red and gold brocade, beside a crackling fire in a large room.  A room he had never seen in his life, and yet he could swear that he knew it.

“Gideon is yours,” Belle said softly.  “He’s your son.”

“That’s not possible,” he whispered.  “We never…”

“He’s yours,” she insisted.  “ _Ours_.  Look at his eyes, please!  He - he has your eyes!  He’s your son, I - I swear it on my life!”

He was about to snap at her, to tell her she was being ridiculous, but the child’s eyes flicked open and regarded him curiously.  Deep brown, with flecks of amber, brimming with intelligence.  Gold lifted him a little closer, breathing in the baby scent of him that was so familiar, even after all those years since he had held Neal in his arms.  The child reached up with one chubby hand and touched his nose, and Gold felt an overwhelming urge to burst into tears.  His mouth twisted, his face crumpling, and he felt Belle’s hand on his shoulder, her touch soothing.

“He loves you,” she said softly.  “He loves his father.  And - and so do I.  I love you.”

Her voice was like music, the words he had never dared hope to hear flowing over him, and he couldn’t speak.  Tears welled in his eyes, and impulsively he pressed a kiss to Gideon’s forehead.

“He can’t be mine,” he whispered.  “It’s - it’s not possible.”

Belle moved closer, close enough that they were touching, that he could smell her perfume.  She had said that she loved him.  This couldn’t be real.

“Am I dreaming?”

It was one explanation, he supposed, and it seemed to amuse her, her eyes sparkling at him, clear and blue as topaz.

“No, you’re not dreaming,” she said gently, and her hand rubbed over his shoulder, her touch welcome, familiar.  Her fingers trailed up to touch his face, stroking over his skin, and he wanted to put his hand over hers. to press her palm to his face and feel her touch.  Belle sent him a brief, hopeful smile, Gideon letting out a contented babbling sound, and he felt as though his heart would burst.  Belle brushed a tear from his cheek with her thumb, and he could see moisture welling in her own eyes, her lower lip trembling a little.

“I love you,” she whispered.  “I know we haven’t always been in a good place, and that we’ve hurt one another, but that one truth has never changed.  I love you, Rumple.  I always have, and I always will.”

She had called him that before.  An odd name, from an odd girl, but he didn’t care.  He reached up with his free hand, cupping her smooth cheek, her skin soft as silk beneath his palm, and she took his hand and held it against her, biting her lip.  She was so beautiful, and he could feel himself breaking, letting the barriers that he had built over his long years alone crumble and fall.  He stepped closer, Gideon letting out a tiny noise of contentment, and Gold bent to press his forehead against Belle’s, inhaling deeply and drawing the scent of her into his lungs.  Her fingers brushed through the short strands of his hair, tickling the top of one ear, and his nose nudged hers as his breathing quickened, her own breath cool on his face.  Her lips were almost brushing his, her chest rising and falling with the raggedness of her breath, and his thumb stroked over her cheek as he pressed his lips to hers.

There was a pulse of energy, a rainbow of light bursting outwards, and he started, pulling back from her with a gasp.  Images - memories - flooded into his brain, crowding out the false thoughts placed there by magic, and he sucked in air, trying to make sense of it all.  He was Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, and he was Mr Gold, pawnbroker, lawyer and landlord, married to Belle Gold, husband and father.  He clutched Gideon to his chest, almost overwhelmed by the rush of emotion, and he saw that Belle was crying, tears streaming down her cheeks.  In wonder, he found that he was crying too, and he threw himself on her, pulling her close against him and hugging her to his chest next to Gideon.

“Oh, Belle!” he whispered.  “Oh sweetheart, thank you!  Thank you so much!”

She clung to him, laughing and crying, pressing kiss after kiss to his neck, to his cheeks, and it wasn’t until Gideon started to grumble at being crushed between his parents that she pulled back, wiping the tears from her face and smiling up at him.

“You’re back,” she whispered.  “You came back to me.  To us.”

“Yes,” he said softly.  “All because of you.  Because you never give up.”

He kissed Gideon’s forehead again, hugging his son close against him, and Belle put an arm around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder.  For a moment he was content to simply stand there with his family in his arms, a sense of peace, of completeness, running through his body.  But the events that had led to his altered memories, to the _town’s_ altered memories, started pushing at his mind, clamouring for his attention.  He sighed, and kissed Belle’s forehead.   _No rest for the wicked._

“What about Henry?” he asked, and she beamed at him.

“He was the second one after me to have his curse broken,” she said.  “The storybook found the Author.”

“Ah.”

“There’s still the problem of your mother,” she added, and he grinned.

“Oh, that,” he said.  “That’s nothing we can’t handle.  At least tell me Regina’s awake.  I have a feeling the town could use its old Mayor back.”

“Depends whether she’s worked herself up to kiss Emma, I think,” said Belle, and he smirked at her.

“If she has, you owe me twenty dollars.”

“The bet was _ten_ ,” she protested, and his grin widened.

“I’m open to other methods of payment from you, Mrs Gold.”


End file.
